


Somewhere to stay

by mariadelshad



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Derek, Emotionally Constipated Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Pack Bonding, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4817153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariadelshad/pseuds/mariadelshad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Following the finale of season 4)</p><p>Derek disappeared off the face of the earth, after transforming into a full wolf at La Iglesia, and for some reason after a while Stiles begins refurbishing Derek's loft. At first he attempts to convince himself that it's because he has nothing better to do or that he feels guilty for leaving Derek while he was hurt. But Stiles never imagined that the rest of the pack, including his own father and Melissa, would get involved. After all, he doesn't even know if Derek is coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yo, Scotty

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a re-upload 'cause my story was deleted. I hope the people that originally read it will find it again and continue on reading. I am so upset that I have to start again from stage one and I would be so grateful if you comment if you did find it again. But looking on the bright side I have an app to check the spelling and grammar this time around so hopefully it will be a little neater now. I guess I'm just trying to make myself feel better ahaha

Derek had just... disappeared.

  
Stiles had spent the first few days of Derek's absence feeling ultimately guilty for leaving him. Yeah, Derek was the one that said for him to go on ahead and save Scott, but Stiles couldn't help that plunging emptiness at the bottom of his stomach every time he thought about it. He physically cringed every single time he thought of helpless Derek, beaten up and bruised down with nothing but blood gurgling out of his mouth.

 

Is it abnormal that Stiles' mind had been so occupied with 'Derek' and 'Is Derek okay' and 'Where is Derek'? Of course it was. After all when Derek was present they hardly even spoke. When they did speak it was usually nothing but sarcastic comments from Stiles and hollow threats from Derek. But at least then Stiles knew that Derek was okay. At least then Stiles didn't roll around in bed at night thinking 'Why did I leave?' and 'could it be my fault he left?'. In the end, he just ended up feeling guilty whenever he thought of Derek. At least that was the first few days of Derek's disappearance.

 

After that, Stiles also spent a few good weeks being angry. Derek was hurt, sure, but Stiles also heard from the rest of the pack that by the end of the evening Derek was up and practically completely healthy again. Hell, Derek had transformed himself into a magnificent full wolf. Surely he should have had enough decency to be like "Oh, hi Stiles. Don't worry your fucking mind off for me. I am fine. I'm just going to fucking disappear without telling you." You know? Like a decent person would?

 

Now he's just forced himself to give up. Derek's probably out there with Braeden, healing and doing what he does with her. So there's really no reason to be angry or worried or feel any of the shit he's been feeling recently. After all, practically everyone he knows who have left have done it without explanation and he hasn't really thought twice about it. Issac, Jackson and even to some point Cora.

 

He's probably just spending so long thinking about Derek because he's been alone at home. With Scott spending some time away with Kira and his father busy at work so often, Lydia making quality time for her mother at the lake house and Liam not close enough to Stiles for him to go to, Stiles has been left with himself and his thoughts too often. It gets too quiet in his empty house and his brain is too curious not to meddle with his thoughts.

 

Malia visited him often at first. She would climb in through the window at night, kiss him when she wanted and often demanded him to spend some time with her. And Stiles did try to spend time with her. For the sake of the fact that his father deeply approved of their... 'relationship'. For the sake of the fact that he would probably be less lonely if they were together. Stiles could see that she was clearly interested in him, and he wished at that moment that he could say the same thing, but as much as he tried to push himself to it, it just wasn't the case. It actually reminded him of his affection towards Lydia all those months ago. And suddenly he was seeing from the other side of the 'unrequited love' spectrum.

 

So he did what Lydia would do.

 

Stiles sat Malia down one night, explaining to her why she can't just randomly straddle him, why she can't push him around into a relationship and how he hopes that she will find someone who can return her feelings. Of course, he had added "I will always care about you, I will always be here for you and I will always be your friend. Like how I care about Lydia and Kira" with a sheepish yet convicted smile placed upon his face. As you can imagine, Malia's visits came to a halt after that. Which Stiles can say he really doesn't like, he wasn't lying when he said that he wanted to be her friend. Friends visit each other and spend time together, right?

 

Now that school is open again it should be a little different. He's going to see Malia and they're going to be great friends, he's going to spend some time with the rest of the pack and everything is going to be just fine. Except at lunch, he finds himself saying "Maybe we should go and ask Derek, it might be a werewolf thing" When Scott announces that he's been sleepless lately.

 

That is, of course, until Scott reminds him that "Derek's not here, man, maybe I can ask Deaton though"

 

"Oh, yeah" Stiles says under his breath, pretending to busy himself with his mostly empty juice carton. "Where is Mr angry wolf, anyway?" he says as casually as humanly possible, clamping the straw tightly between his teeth. If he's being honest then he has to admit, at least to himself, that he genuinely wants to know where Derek is. Is he okay? How's he dealing with his life now that he's away? Stiles doesn't really know why that is. Maybe it's just because he's yet to shed away the ridiculous amount of guilt he feels for leaving Derek, no matter how hard he tries to block out all thoughts of the guy. Scott shrugs as Lydia and Kira carry on talking about whatever it is that they've been rambling on about all lunch.

 

"Dunno, I'll probably call him and see what he's up to later" Stiles wants to ask Scott to call him now, just so he can give him a piece of his mind and tell him how stupid he is for just taking off. But then again he'll probably just sound stupid and childish. That's probably because if Stiles quarrels enough on the matter then he will probably reach the conclusion that he is, in fact, being stupid and childish.

 

When Derek got a new number Stiles never asked him for it. Until now he didn't really have the necessity for it. They never called each other or found the need to text, really. Whenever Stiles wanted to take time out of his not so busy schedule to annoy Derek he just made his way up to Derek's loft, and Derek never hesitated to climb in through his window like a creep for research and information that he needed. It was a mutual agreement they unconsciously came to without ever discussing it that they could invade each others time without calling. It was good and it worked for them.

 

"Okay, you do that" Stiles says, sipping the last of his drink. He offers Scott to play video games with him later, but Scott turns down his offer since it's a school night. He turns to Lydia, but she says that she has some 'important stuff to do', even though Lydia is probably the last person on earth that Stiles imagines himself playing video games with.

 

So Stiles gets home and plays games by himself. Then he gets bored and cleans his room. Then the bathroom, making sure that every inch is scrubbed down. His father won't be home until midnight, but he makes food anyway. Then he cleans the cooker and the counters and brings everything out of the draws and wipes them down before putting them back. He puts on his music and dances around until he's sure he's lost a few pounds simply by running around the empty house like the idiot he is. He does all his homework but in the end he almost feels like even the homework tasks he received today are fewer than usual (they're not really). He does everything he can think of and for some bizarre reason he wishes that they had some kind of issue to deal with; maybe new hunters? Another alpha pack? Anything! Guilt starts to spread through him when he realizes that he's actually wishing that he and his friends were in danger, but the more selfish side of him is telling him that at least he would have something to do then. At least that way Derek would probably have no choice but to return and save Beacon Hills for the nth time. Ultimately his thoughts return to Derek pretty quick no matter what he does. It's just Stiles being Stiles, he convinces himself. Like that one time when he was six and he accidentally crushed a ladybird and then proceeded to think about it for the rest of the month. 'It's just guilt on my mind' he mentally repeats to himself for what seems like over a dozen times today.

 

He leans over the kitchen counter, tapping the counter top with the tips of his finger in a constant rhythm. It's sudden and he really isn't sure what he's about to do but in a moment he's grabbing his keys to his precious Jeep and he's driving down to where he's been trying to stop himself from going to for weeks now; Derek's loft. It's ridiculous, really. What does he expect? To find Derek there having dinner or something?

 

The heavy loft door is usually open before Stiles even gets half way up the long stretched stairs leading up to the loft's entrance door. Typically he's greeted with a brooding Derek muttering "What do you want, Stiles?", even though he almost always used to step aside for Stiles to enter. Almost always because Stiles hasn't forgotten that one time where Braeden was still half naked and Derek was clearly trying to keep her dignity intact, standing like a brick wall in front of Stiles, saying "Come back later, Stiles. Now is not the time". But Derek's not here, which means that the door is probably locked. Stiles tries his luck and attempts to open it anyway, and much to his surprise, the heavy door slides open easily. Maybe Derek just didn't think this was a place that anyone would find indulging enough to even consider breaking into. Maybe Derek left it open for them to use in pack meetings, Stiles thinks 'Or maybe he didn't have time to lock up before he left'. The last possibility makes him frown as he walks in, the usual thread of cold air around the loft oozing into his skin. Derek never got cold in this place, which was probably a werewolf thing, Stiles figures. How did Braeden manage to walk around half naked without freezing, however, is a question he doesn't have the answer to.

 

The place is still dull as always, the windows are too dirty and the walls are too colorless. Stiles is used to the loft being with plenty of space to spare, but somehow it feels even emptier than usual. On the lone coffee table, there's a half full paper cup from a local cafe, the bed's still unmade and there's a layer of dust covering the sofa. Stiles picks up the paper cup from the table and turns it in his hand, wondering if Derek will ever drink another cup of coffee here again.

 

Upon the railings of the spiral staircase, there are spiders, making themselves at home as they expand their webs across the metal. Stiles brushes them off with his forearm on his way up, cursing the arachnids for being so quick in assuming that the place belongs to no one. Unlike every other normal home, the kitchen and toilet are upstairs, and in comparison to the rest of the building the bathroom and kitchen are actually rather decent. There are smooth, chocolate colored, marble counter tops, too many kitchen appliances for someone who didn't seem to ever cook and clean vinyl floors matching the counters. The bathroom is equally as elegant, again, matching the materials used to make up the kitchen. It's almost as though the kitchen and bathroom aren't even part of the same building and Stiles wonders if Derek has put extra cash into getting such an expensive looking kitchen and bathroom of if the shack of a loft came with it's surprises.

 

Stiles looks over at the loft from where he stands on top of the stairs, eyes dancing over the shamble of a building Derek never called home. He soaks in the way it looks; dirty, uncared for and lonely - from the giant door, to the shabby coffee table to the... the paint, brushes and other construction material that sit behind the giant hold in middle of the wall? He approaches it and picks up one of the paint buckets, completely confused until he notices and recognizing the shade of cream color.

 

"Dude, you need to do something to this place" Stiles remembers waving his hand around to motion at the loft. "If you're going to live here then you need to make it look like you're actually living here" It had been one of those moments where Derek and Stiles had been left alone together as they had awaited the arrival of the rest of the pack. "I mean" Stiles hasn't forgotten the spot where he had stood in front of one of the further pillars "This thing looks like a cat took a piss on it for three years" At that point Derek had rolled his eyes, arms yet to be unfolded from across his broad chest. You know? The typical Derek Hale look that he seemed to be so keen on using to hide away all emotions other than his 'I'm so, completely, pissed off right now' signature glare.

 

"Then what do you suggest I do?" Derek had replied, his voice set in a tone that wasn't really asking but rather mocking Stiles. Of course, that hadn't stopped the younger boy from babbling out his ideas.

 

"I dunno, maybe paint these ridiculously high pillars an ivory creme color to hide the fact that they're freaking hideous" Stiles had slapped the side of the pillar as though if he did it hard enough it would budge over. "And it would brighten the place a little" He'd announced, earning yet another frustrated sigh from Derek. "And I dunno, maybe get more furniture and a few rugs" He'd pointed at the places where they would be put. "Maybe a table for the pack so we could have meetings and a few shelves, then the place would look less like a hideout for addicts to come to inject themselves"

 

At that time the Alpha pack had been on their tails, so to say. Derek had sunk down onto the sofa, directing his comment as a comeback to Stiles. "Maybe once we don't have a pack of Alphas trying to slaughter us at every corner then I will actually get around to it"

 

"Maybe we should get the Alpha pack to do it for trying to slaughter us at every corner" Stiles had joked, making Derek offer him one of those smiles-which-aren't-actually-smiles that were rarer than big foot and chocolate dropping unicorns.

 

Now Stiles thinks back he feels rather amused that Derek seems to have taken his advice; brushes, rollers, and hideous pillars ready to be painted. Across the surface of the floor, there's also the pieces of a grand, deep brown, wooden table ready to be put together. There are also shelves and in the darkest corner of the space there's a sofa and two armchairs covered by plastic, sitting and waiting for someone to put them to use.

 

Stiles stands within the silence of the empty building for a few moments, breathing in the chilly air through his nose and then out again. He takes a glance around the place, which still looks like a hideout for druggies. He isn't really sure how Derek could even put up with falling asleep and then waking up in this place. But then again anything is better than a wrecked train unit or a childhood home that's been burnt to a crisp. Stiles rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, clicking his fingers from his pinky to his thumbs before he takes one of the trays and pours in a generous amount of paint, dipping in the smallest brush. Stiles isn't one for perfection and the last thing he wants to do is get paint absolutely everywhere. He begins by tracing light strokes up and across the length of the first pillar, the color coming out bolder and offering more coverage than Stiles had originally thought it would. A grateful smile spreads across his face when he realizes that he won't have to apply twenty layers just to cover some of the darker spots.

 

The pillars have already been sanded down and smoothed out, he notices upon closer observation, Derek must have been really serious about giving the place a makeover. Stiles, slowly but surely, works his way up the brushes, the darkness of the night already falling upon him by the time he's reached just above his head with the largest brush. He mentally notes down that he will need to bring their tallest ladder with him next time if he wants to reach all the way up. He wipes some paint from his hand directly onto the sides of his jeans and then through his hair, gathers all the used paint brushes to take home and clean up.

 

When he reaches his house his father hasn't arrived home yet. Stiles dunks the brushes into a container filled with white spirit and leaves them to soak in the sink, searching their shed for a ladder to use. Once he finds it he realized that if his calculations are correct then the ladder wouldn't even get him half way up the pillar. The length isn't enough to reach as high as he would want, and quite frankly the steps don't look too reliable. One of the steps is already hanging off and he really doesn't want to find out how long the others will last before they, too, break off. 'Yo Scotty, I need to borrow your ladder. Can I pick it up tomorrow after school?' He shoots Scott a text, receiving a 'yeah sure' moments later without questioning.

 

He showers and tucks himself into bed, contemplating in his mind where exactly he wants to place the furniture before he finally drifts off into an uninterrupted slumber.


	2. And where have you been?

"Good morning, son" His father says as he bites onto a piece of toast "Were you looking for something last night?" His index points towards the open shed door through the kitchen window, closing doors behind himself is something Stiles really should be accustomed to by now. But then again there are allot of things he should be accustomed to by now. Asking people for their permission before attacking their walls with paint, for example... You know what, actually, fuck him and his permission. If he hadn't evaporated into thin air then he would be here to help Stiles. Stiles wouldn't need to do everything by himself.

 

"Uh, yeah. The ladder" Stiles says, washing the paint brushes out before he wraps them in a plastic bag and tucks them into his bagpack along with his spare change of clothes, since no matter how hard he tried the day before he still managed to get splatters of paint all over himself.

 

"Why?" The sheriff questions, placing toast and butter in front of his son. "You doing a project or something?"

 

"Yeah, something like that" Stiles answers vaguely, digging into his own slice of toast. Stiles isn't completely lying, he decides, it is somewhat a project. He refrains himself from dishing out any details though, if he says anything like 'I'm painting Derek's loft' his father will end up asking questions he doesn't have answers for like 'Why?'

 

"Just make sure you're not doing anything that will get you into trouble" The sheriff almost pleads, knowing full well that his son gets into trouble far too often. He doesn't look up, eyes sticking to the newspaper in his hands he probably isn't reading.

 

"Don't worry, dad" Stiles chuckles, mouth half full with his morning breakfast. "There's no trouble involved" He promises as he slings his bag over his shoulder and warns his dad to not put too much butter on his toast, shoving his own covered bread into his mouth.

 

At school the day goes by fast. Scott asks Stiles if it's okay if he brings Liam over with him when they meet up later in the evening and Stiles says "If Liam still wants to come to my house after what happened the last time the three of us were together at one of our houses, then yeah sure. Why the hell not?" Scott laughs.

 

Stiles figures that he should still have plenty of time to at least pick up the ladder and get some painting done after school. He didn't pack a change of clothes for nothing. The day before, while he took it upon himself to become Derek's unasked for decor, he'd felt good about it. He didn't have anything to do in his spare time, anyway. Derek would either return and complain about Stiles doing it all wrong or Stiles would never see him again. Stiles much prefers the idea of being scowled at.

 

Soon enough Stiles is at Derek's loft, pulling out his ripped spare shirt and over worn jeans.

 

At one point Stiles and Scott had been here with Derek, finding Derek's unclean shirt and jeans left on his bed. "Dude, where do you even put your clothes?" Stiles had asked, not finding any wardrobe or draws in sight.

 

Derek had frowned a little "Why does it bother you where I put my clothes?"

 

"It doesn't bother me" Stiles had defended himself "Gosh, Derek, you make me sound like such a weirdo"

 

"It's cause you are a weirdo" Stiles hadn't taken offense to that, he knew that it was a little true. Derek had sighed, reluctantly pulling out a draw under his bed.

 

"This is where I keep them, it's built into the bed. Does that make you feel better?"

 

"You could have just said that, you don't need to be grumpy about it, Mr I can't say anything without sounding like I want to kill someone" Stiles had commented, though he had been both satisfied and surprised that Derek had even bothered responding.

 

"Maybe I always sound like I want to kill someone because I always want to kill you" It was funny to Stiles considering the fact that every chance Derek had he'd done everything he could to save his ass. Derek made far too many hollow threats that Stiles was 110% sure he would never even actually consider going through with, but it was entertaining to say the least. Stiles even made his own threats at one point, threatening to leave him for dead when Derek had been shot. Of course he wasn't actually planning on leaving him, yet it was oddly fun. If anything it made Stiles trust him even more. Odd, right? Except it's not odd when he puts into consideration the fact that he practically owns his life to the guy and visa versa.

 

"You know, sometimes you two are like an old married couple" Scott's snort had broken Derek and Stiles' competition of 'let's see who can glare more before breaking eye contact', making his first comment of the night. "I mean, I thought Stiles and I were bad, but you two are on a whole new level"

 

"Well maybe you should tell your friend that his questions are stupid" Derek had been doing an excellent job of adding fuel to the fire in mass quantities.

 

"Well maybe you should stop talking about me like I'm not here" Stiles had stomped his own verbal foot down. Neither one of them knew how any of their arguments ever started or ended, yet they were nothing that either one ever took too seriously. They were something that stood out from every other conversation Stiles would have with every other person, which is probably why Stiles could probably replay every single one of them like a HD program recording.

 

Stiles pulls the shirt over his head, getting to work quickly. He takes his first step onto the tall ladder and silently prays that he doesn't fall off, he doesn't know how he would explain that one to his dad. He finds that his work gets done much quicker with the roller, of course, and soon enough he's on another pillar. Time passes him by without his notice, but he has proudly painted three pillars over before he begins to feel an aching sting in his arms. That, however, means that he's gotten three missed calls at 7:21 when he finally checks his phone. "Shit" He mutters under his breath, quickly climbing down the ladder without breaking his neck, grabbing hold of his bag and keys.

 

He gets home just in time to find a worried Scott and bored Liam in his bedroom. Scott has a key to his house, as he does Scotts, so walking into his room to find that his best friend has already taken out his secret stash of snacks and is waiting impatiently for him isn't a surprise. "And where have you been?" Scott asks in his mother voice, worried lines folding the space between his eyebrows. Stiles has to think twice about calling him 'mom' "We were worried about you" He points his thumb at Liam from over his shoulder.

 

"Hi" Liam says, not sounding all that worried as he shoves another handful of doritoes in his mouth, already through his third game on the xbox.

 

"Sorry, dude" Stiles slaps the side of Scott's arm, reassuring his friend that everything is just fine. "I started painting Derek's loft and I lost track of time" Scott's wearing an expression that Stiles isn't really sure how to label, whether it's a 'I'm not sure what you just said' or 'are you being serious' look Stiles isn't really certain.

 

"Painting Derek's loft, huh?" Yeap, it's an 'are you being serious' look. Scott examines the paint that sticks to his best friends worn shirt and jeans, clearly only noticing after Stiles mentioned it. _'Keep your mouth shut next time, damn it!_ ' Stiles tells himself in his head.

 

"Why were you painting Derek's loft" Why? Well Isn't this great? Because this is exactly the question that Stiles had been avoiding all along. He hasn't really thought of why. It just kind of happened. Stiles wonders over to where Liam takes his residence on the edge of his bed, grabbing a few pieces of Doritoes for himself.

 

"Dunno" He shrugs "I argued with him once" Scott scoffs and mutters an 'as always' under his breath "And I kind of made him feel like he needs to re-decorate" Stiles continues talking, ignoring his friend's remark because how do you respond to that? "So now he's bought the stuff and I feel bad that he's not here to do it himself"

 

"Well, okay" Scott let's it go, not really understanding but realizing at the same time that there's really no point in questioning.

 

It turns out that Liam isn't only good at Lacrosse and munching on Doritoes but he's also practically perfect at any game Stiles puts on. "Dude, you've beat us both at" Stiles searches his ever growing stack of games "Well, everything" Liam smiles, clearly proud of his gaming skills. "Nice one, man" Even Stiles is a little impressed, high fiving the younger boy as a reward. By the end of the night Stiles can actually say that he's developed more of a friendship with Liam than he first thought they could actually have. Stiles even manages to casually ask Scott if he's called Derek yet, which much to his disappointment is a 'no' and 'I will tomorrow night, I just keep forgetting'.

 

Stiles doesn't see his father the next morning. He just notes it down as another day where his dad is over working himself, which seems to be happening allot lately. It worries him. His father feel's responsible for the safety of the people in their town, and Stiles knows that, but maybe he should feel responsible for his own health too. The worried son tries to make sure that he has a talk with his dad later in the afternoon.

 

School is good. Stiles notices that Malia, Liam and Mason join Scott, Lydia, Kira and himself for lunch. They talk about anything and everything and he even manages to make them laugh a few times. When the day is over Stiles just drives straight over to Derek's loft. He takes his iPod and speaker dock with him, blasting his music as his sings along like a terrible contestant on a talent show. The last time he sang in such an atrocious manner had been in Scott's car. His best friend and the werewolf that lacks all sense of humor, also known as Derek Hale, were in the front seats while Stiles had taken his place in the back.

 

Coldplays's paradise had been on the radio, making Stiles sing along with the words in a voice that could probably earn him a medal for the worst signer in the world. It's not Stiles' fault that they happen to have played a song that no one could resist singing to, blame Coldplay for being so good. "Stiles, for the love of god, please stop. You sound like a cat being stomped on" Derek's usual growl and threat nature had taken a break in placement for a frustrated plea. Stiles knew his singing voice didn't make it to his top ten list of talents, but that hadn't stopped him from biting a sarcastic comment back.

 

"What's wrong? Maybe you would prefer if I howled at the moon" Then he'd obnoxiously let out a faux of a howl and, oh god, because Derek never thought anything anything could top his singing but his howling? That was a whole new level of methods to make peoples ears bleed.

 

Maybe it's true, Stiles never really made the best choice when it came to things he said to Derek, but the truth is sarcasm and horrible jokes were the only way he knew to talk to Derek. Sue him for not knowing how else to communicate with the most intimidating werewolf in the kingdom. And plus it seemed that if Stiles didn't irritate the hell out of him then he wouldn't talk at all. Trust him when he says that he's already tried. At one point Stiles had to spend a few hours with Derek on the watch out for what they thought were new hunters in town, Derek didn't speak the whole time. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

 

So yeah, maybe Stiles did do some of the things that he did on purpose. And yeah, maybe it did work and it did end up making Derek say something most of the time. "I don't want you to howl at anything, you idiot. I want you to shut up"

 

Stiles smiles to himself now that he thinks back to that moment as he continues on spreading paint across the fourth pillar, wondering what Derek would tell him if he was here now. It would probably go along the lines of "I will push you off the ladder if you don't stop singing" or "I will rip your throat out.. with my teeth"

 

Stiles finishes painting all eight pillars the same night, returning home only to slide into bed without even showering.

 

In the morning he feels bad for not having his well prepared talk with his dad, or spending any time with his father at all, but there's nothing he can do now. He'll just have to do it tonight, he tells himself. Obviously it doesn't go as he plans when he's at Derek's loft again after school. This time he takes a break from painting and brings a whole box full of cleaning products along with himself, scrubbing down the six layers of dirt and grub that have piled up on the windows. It isn't as easy as he thought it would be, the grime has taken it's residence upon the glass and it's not ready to leave without a fight. Equally Stiles isn't going to give up, so he scrubs and scrubs until he has a small section of the giant window squeaky clean. He's glad to say that he can already note down a difference, the natural light that shines in from the small clean section immediately brightening the place up. It takes Stiles another day and a few bottles of bleach and glass cleaner to freshen and polish up the windows, and then another two days to add another layer of paint to the pillars, which is why it quickly becomes a routine for him. Go to school, go to Derek's loft, get home and go to sleep. Stiles doesn't mind, it's something to do.

 

One night, when he gets home, he finally sits his dad down for a good son and father talk. "Dad, what have you been doing lately?"

 

"Just work, son. How about you? You seem to be busy" His father responds, flicking through some pages in the piles of papers he's got sprawled across the diner table.

 

"Yeah" Stiles rubs the back of his neck "Like I said, project" He pinches the page out of his fathers hand, tucking it away on the other side of the table. "But that's not the point" He effectively changes the subject "Dad, you need to rest" He says, his usual joking tone nowhere to be found. "You over work yourself and you being stressed out stresses me out"

 

His father chuckles lightly, looking down at his hand. "Sometimes you sound like your mother" He says in a light tone, his lips set in a sad smile, the legs of their chair screeching against the ground as he stands up and out of his seat. "I have the whole weekend off, I will rest then, okay?" He reassures, tapping his sons shoulder for good measure. Stiles is relieved, sighing a little 'okay good' under his breath.

 

"Oh by the way" The sheriff looks over her shoulder before he walks upstairs "We should spend some time together this weekend. You know? Father son time?"

 

"Sure dad, good night"

 


	3. What are you wearing?

When Saturday comes around Stiles awkwardly wakes up way earlier than he usually does. He doesn't bother getting out of bed... Until staying in it makes his skin feel irritated and brain go wild. Basically laying under the sheets becomes impossible for him pretty quickly, something he usually loves doing. He can't pinpoint the reason why, he just has this itch under his skin like he should be doing something, finishing something he's started. He showers and makes breakfast alone, he clears up and does his homework. A part of him wishes that his father would wake up so they could do something together, another part of him is glad that his dad is still asleep and will probably continue to sleep for a long couple of hours. He deserves a long rest.

 

Stiles holds his phone in his hand, contemplating with himself if he should call Scott or not. When he comes to the conclusion that it still hasn't reached midday yet and even if Scott is awake he's probably working or he's with Kira, he just places the phone in his pocket and picks up his car keys instead.

 

Stiles reaches Derek's loft soon, intending on getting home in a couple of hours in the hope that his father is rested and up by then. Today he plans on (he never even knew he was planning on it, but it looks like it's happening now) using some of the leftover paint to cover one of the filthier walls. The one, in particular, that's got these horrible, grim looking stains that run down the length of it.

 

Yeah, that definitely has to be painted over.

 

Many of the walls are built of red brick, giving the place a homely, neutral look; Stiles thinks he will keep those as they are. Though they could probably use a little cleaning up. There are webs, mildew and even some mold latching its self onto the bricks, surely there have to be some health risks around that; he will need to sort that out too.

 

He gets to work on the cleaning first, figuring that the leftover solutions he used for the windows should do the job. He mixes a good amount of bleach in a bucket of hot water he boils in the kitchen, brings out a stiff, scrubbing brush and puts his hands through a pair of gloves. The muck is tougher than it looks because it doesn't matter how much Stiles scrubs and scours, the mold has taken a vow to dress the walls with its filth as long as it can. The bleach isn't half as strong as he wants it to be, leaving most of the stain and dirt as it is.

 

Stiles drops everything and hops into his car, driving to the closest supermarket in search of a solution vigorous enough to scrape off all the horrendous dirt that piles upon the walls. He steps out of his jeep, keys rattling as they fall into the pocket of his jacket once he arrives. Stiles walks in and swerves through the isles, following the signs that lead him to the cleaning products.

 

His eyes scan through the endless stacks of bottles that occupy that shelves with little to no clue as to what's going to be useful to him. At least he can keep his hopes high, through the dozens of cleaning products surely one of them has to be what he's looking for. He reaches out and grabs an orange bottle that catches his eye, a lousy image of a muscular cartoon man and a bright title as its cover. With his free hand, he picks out another one which is equally as useless because they're both supposed to be for bathrooms. Should have googled what to get, he tells himself as he lets out a frustrated sigh and places both products back into their original places.

 

"Hi. Can I help you?" A female voice unexpectedly sounds from behind him before he has the chance to search for anything else, making Stiles jump and turn as he's caught off guard. "Sorry, you just look like you need a little help" The brunette girl clearly notices that she's startled him, quickly explaining herself. She's dressed in a simple white polo, apron and fabric trousers, feet covered by plain black dap shoes, like every other worker in the supermarket.

 

"Oh, uh, yes please" Stiles says almost awkwardly, the shop assistant's big brown eyes settling on him as he fumbles to pick up the closest bottle of liquid. "I was just looking for something to clean walls with"

 

She takes a step forward, her ponytail swaying gracefully with her movement. "Well, that won't be of use to you, then." She takes the product from him and shakes, as if to show him the label, before putting it back. Only Stiles would grab a carpet stain remover and claim that he plans on using it for walls. "What kind of walls are you planning on cleaning?" Her lips stretch into a friendly smile, cheeks denting into dimples on either side of her face. Not Lydia style, deep visible dimples, but more like Derek's shallow, blink and you might miss them dimples. Stiles smiles back.

 

"Actually, they're brick" He explains "Old, like really old. And moldy, dirty and..." Stiles thinks of that damn stains and how they have already drained half his energy without coming off. "..and stupid" He says out loud, only realizing how ridiculous what he said is when he hears the shop assistant make a noise that sounds a whole lot like suppressed laughter.

 

"Well you're just in luck" She comments, smile much wider now, revealing a set of pearly, straight teeth. "We have just the thing for stupid walls" She begins making her way down the isle, signaling for him to follow, all while Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose and mentally curses himself out for his lack of filter. "You know you should wear gloves when dealing with chemicals, your hands look a little rough" Only then Stiles takes notice of his hands and how dry his skin has become, bits of filth still stuck in between his nails - a little rough is a complete understatement. He didn't use gloves for the windows and these are the consequences. Stiles shrugs.

 

"Well, I guess you'll just have to show me the hand cream next."

 

"Will that just be hand cream or stupid hand cream?" She says playfully, glancing over her shoulder long enough for Stiles to catch a glimpse of her arched eyebrows rise up and her lined lids squint joyfully. She halts in front of a separate collection of bottles right when Stiles is about to think up an equally humorous comment. "This" she picks out a spray. "This is TSP, it's for hard removing stains" She balances it on her palm as though she is advertising it in an infomercial. "But this is really, really strong" She drags out her last 'really' for emphasis, lids blinking and Stiles can swear her eyes just darted from his own eyes down to his lips and then back to his eyes. "You have to wear gloves. We don't want you damaging your hands anymore, now, do we?" She holds out the bottle towards him, beaming yet another coquettish simper in his direction. Stiles can't really make out whether she's just really nice and sweet or if she's trying to flirt with him. Any other moment and he would have probably tried to find out if she's interested in him, but honestly right now he just wants to get back to the loft and get cleaning done.

 

"Thank you" He smiles, nods as an appreciation sign and turns on his heels, moving towards the checkout area.

 

"No problem"

 

He grabs some lunch on the way and hurries back to the loft.

 

It takes a few hours of him singing badly along to the music he plays out loud, brushing, rinsing and wiping until he gets the walls clean and crisp. He steps back, proudly admiring his hard work. His efforts seem to be showing not only through the fact that the walls are gleaming now but through the fact that his body seems to be aching all over. The tired boy allows himself drop onto the abandoned bed that remains unused in the middle of the room, clearly needing a few minutes to rest up before he can do anything else.

 

The bed still has Derek's scent faintly attached to it. Stiles turns his head and takes a whiff of the pillow beneath his head, a mixture of light musk and dust mildly hitting his nose.

 

"What are you wearing?" Stiles had annoyingly sniffed once, invading Derek's personal space with his curious nose.

 

"What.." Derek had sighed out, as though he hadn't really been surprised, but rather it had been a 'what now' kind of sigh. "What are you doing, Stiles?" He'd asked, crossing to the other side of the table where he'd continued to loom his focus down to the map in front of him.

 

Derek and himself, along with Scott and Lydia, had been at the loft at that moment, looking into a case he can't manage to remember anything about. He can, however, remember saying "Dude, chill. I only wanted to know what cologne you've got on. It smells good"

 

"Shut up, Stiles" Derek had grumbled under his breath "I'm trying to concentrate and you making unnecessary comments isn't helping me with that."

Scott and Lydia had ignored the both of them, tallying their banter down as 'another occasion of Stiles and Derek ribbing and entertainingly annoying the heck out of each other'.

Stiles had given him a sour look, a look that told Derek off for being so mean.

 

"I don't use cologne" Derek had mumbled later while Lydia had been busying herself with an ancient looking book across the room and Scott had ran downstairs once he'd heard Kira arriving.

 

"What?" Stiles had sprung his head up to look at Derek like there was someone pulling a string to raise his awareness.

 

Sigh. "I don't use cologne, I just use soap or body wash. No perfume or anything, they're too strong for my senses, sometimes, so they irritate me" Derek had answered Stiles' earlier question without looking up from where he was leaning over the table, busying himself by folding and unfolding the corner of the paper in front of him. Stiles had smiled to himself as though he'd achieved something significant.

 

Now Stiles lifts himself off of the mattress when he feels as though his mind is about to fall into unconsciousness. Why is it that he couldn't sleep for the life of him this morning but now he thinks he might doze off at any moment, he's not sure, but falling asleep here would be a terrible idea.

 

He sits like that for a while, though, a hand smoothing over the blanket that's splayed out beneath him. Where does Derek sleep now? Does he get much sleep at all? Stiles sighs and tries to push away all the questions he clearly won't get answers for, deciding the getting back to painting is better than lazing around.

 

He gets up and brings the rollers, paint and tray out once again, ready to transform the blotched wall into something you can actually look like it belongs in a house. He pays close attention to the dents and the details, making sure that there's no area left uncovered. He goes on like that for a while, his full attention concentrating on spreading generous amounts of color down and across.

 

Stiles springs up a good meter into the air, for the second time in the same day, when he finally turns to find his father staring him down cautiously. The sheriff's hands are on his hips, a look so curious on his face that Stiles thinks he might need to check if he's grown tentacles. But then again he is painting Derek Hales loft without ever being asked to, so that might be why his father is giving him the 'do I really want to know' vibes Scott had given him.

 

"So" His dad says, approaching him slowly. "This is your project, huh?" He nods an indication to the paint as he talks.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles is kind of stuck.

 

There's paint dripping from his roller down onto the ground but, believe it or not, he is kind of speechless. He's uselessly wracking his brain for an explanation but until now he hasn't even found a good reason to explain to himself as to why he's doing this. After all, he's not even sure that Derek's ever going to actually come back. Maybe he will sell this place and get a nice home wherever he is. Maybe he will stay with Braeden and they will have a couple of beautiful kids and he will never come back, this town be damned. He can't use the same excuse he used on Scott, it isn't enough to stop his dad from prying.

 

The sheriff goes on speaking when he realizes that he's not about to get a response from his son. "I called you when I woke up, a few times actually. You didn't answer so I got worried. I thought you might be with Scott, so I called him and he told me that I might find you here." Stiles wishes he checked his phone earlier. But then again it was only matter of time before his father would ask what this project is that he's investing so much time and effort in. One way or the other his father was going to find out. Besides it's not like he's doing anything wrong. At least not legally wrong.

 

Stiles sighs and lets his shoulders slump, relaxing a little as his father expresses his concern. "I'm okay, dad. I told you I'm not getting myself into trouble"

 

"So what, is Derek Hale paying you to paint his house or something? He couldn't get someone else to do it?"

 

"No, no dad. He, uh, doesn't even know I'm doing this" Stiles cuts his father off, correcting him before the situation can spiral out into a greater misunderstanding.

 

"So you're invading someone's home without their permission, is that what you're trying to tell me?"

 

"What? No, dad. Uh, look I told him that he needs to paint and clear this place up before. He kind of bought the stuff but never got around to it and then he had to... go" Stiles explains, probably making little to no sense, but it's the best he can come up with. "So I just thought I would do it, I have nothing to do lately anyway. It's better than going out into the woods in middle of the night looking for dead bodies, right" He offers a hollow chuckle, hoping that he can lighten the intense drive he's getting from this conversation. The roller feels heavy in his hand as he awaits some kind of reaction from his father. Is he going to tell him to stop being unreasonable and come home or is he going to carry on questioning? Stiles is already thinking up of arguments to use in order to convince his father to let him carry on when the sheriff's expression changes. The crease between his eyes ease and his lips that have been apart till now get together.

 

His father lets out a deep breath, shaking his head delicately with his eyes closed. Much to Stiles' surprise he gets a little closer to his son, grabbing a wet cloth as he bends down and wipes away that paint that's splattered onto the ground from Stiles' roller. "So" He says now standing upright "What do you want me to do?

 

"What?" Stiles' mouth drops open, a little shocked and confused at the same time. "I'm not letting you help me here, you have spent all week working your ass off and now you want to come and work here too. Na uh, no thank you"

 

"If you're here then I'm here too, plus we were going to spend some time together, right?" Stiles is pretty capable of using his persuasive techniques on people, but the one that's truly the master at it is his father. Stiles tries to say 'you've been working all week' and 'you need to rest more' but it's useless. It's no wonder that minutes later Stiles is caving in, letting his dad grab and use one of the spare rollers.

 

His father is much faster and neater at painting, getting the wall finished and ready for another coat in half the time it would have taken Stiles. The both of them spend their time waiting for the paint to dry by get the table pieces out and trying to put it together.

 

"Look, dad, it says on the instructions that this part" He announces, picking up the piece labeled simply as 'A' on the guidance page "Is meant to go with that piece"

 

"Son, I'm sure that's meant to go with this" His father says, raising up one of the table legs.

 

"Dad, it says here in the instructions. Just, hand it here" The sheriff watches over his son as he struggles to put the pieces together and wonders what it is that's got Stiles so determined to get all this done. If he didn't walk in on his son then surely he would have done everything by himself. Stiles has trouble concentrating on his own breathing forget redecorating a whole loft.

 

The sheriff observes the place and notices the many differences already. The walls seem cleaner, the lighting is brighter and the paint job looks almost perfect. John's more than impressed that Stiles has managed to do so much in the few short days since he said he's started a project.

 

But again, his mind quickly brings up the question of what is it that's motivating Stiles so much to start and carry on with this.

 

"Ouch!" Stiles stubs his finger between the wood, clearly failing to put the table together by himself.

 

"Give it to me, Stiles, before your rip your pinky off" Over an hour and many discussions later they finally have the table together in one piece.

 

"Derek and his werewolf ass better be grateful for this. If it was him he would have probably given up and used it as firewood" Stiles fills his lungs with oxygen, sitting on the table. Hopefully, they have put it together properly and he won't end up on his ass. His father joins him, placing himself on the free space. it's large and stable, it could probably support a few more people. Stiles counts that as a success.

 

"Why, is he impatient?"

 

"Yeah, well no. Sometimes" Stiles shrugs "Sometimes he gets annoyed really quick, other times he doesn't" Stiles looks straight ahead, rambling on like it's to himself. "Like, I've seen him while his sister was ill. He was so patient, so worried and delicate. But this" He picks up the sheet of instructions and waves it for good measure "I can tell that even you looked like you were going to lose my cool for a moment"

 

"Well he hasn't killed you yet, so I guess I can say that his patience level is more than you give him credit for" Stiles' father laughs at his son as Stiles jabs his elbow into his dad's ribs lightly.

 

 

"Hey! Not funny!" He says even though he's chuckling himself.

 

"But seriously" John says "He's a great guy, he saved my life a few times, you know?" He smiles, the creases of crow feet making themselves visible on the sides of his eyes. "I even saw him tell Chris Argent that he would never sacrifice his life for his, only to cover him and almost get blown to pieces in the process" John sighs, long and deep. "So" He turns his head to face his son "Does he always make himself sound like an asshole only to do the most heroic things?" Stiles is so caught up in his own thoughts, hand pulling on a loose thread in his pocket, that he doesn't even notice his father curse.

 

"Yeah, he does, I guess" Stiles feels as though the more he hears about Derek the more he wants to punch himself in the face for all the wrong he's done to him. Not the sarcasm and the arguing, Stiles is sure Derek didn't mind that. Not really. otherwise, he wouldn't have done it. But for everything else. For digging up his sister, as a first. For accusing him of murder, for saying that they should leave him for dead even if he didn't mean it. Even if it was years ago. For leaving him in a moment where he was most vulnerable, Derek telling him be damned. Hell, for letting him leave Beacon Hills in first place.

 

"I guess what I'm really trying to say is that I understand why you're doing this." Stiles doesn't say anything, his eyes glued onto the laces of his shoes as his head hangs down. In all honesty he's waiting for his dad to give him a good reason, he's failed to find a purpose other than his own very untrue 'it stops me from getting bored'. He's sure it's got a little bit to do with the fact that he's been denying to himself that he hopes that Derek will return soon. He hopes that Derek will come back and find a place he can finally call home, nothing that's burnt down, not a used train that's not a good home to anything but rats. But an actual home. Somewhere that he can rest his head in peace, somewhere that's warm and comforting. Stiles is sure Derek has had nothing of a sort since the death of his family and since Derek has clearly saved himself and his only family member so many times he owes him that much. And maybe, just maybe, Stiles wishes that he and the rest of the pack could provide a new family for Derek. He wants Derek to go to him for problems that don't involve someone trying to sacrifice them or kill everyone in their town. Stiles wishes that instead of running away Derek would have gone to him, or at least to another member of the pack. Derek running away just makes him feel like he never made Derek feel like he belongs in the pack. But that's if Stiles would admit it. Being as stubborn as Stiles is, he doesn't even give in to himself in his own head. He sticks to the 'It's something to do' excuse and will probably continue to do so until the day he's six feet underground.

 

"He's done so much for you guys and you want to do something back for him" Stiles accepts that. It's what his father believes, it's what he should believe and it's what he hopes the rest of the pack believe. "c'mon" John says, slapping his son's shoulder. "We have another layer of paint waiting to be put on."

 

They call it a night once they have spread another generous layer of paint across the wall. Before they leave John takes a good look around. "Hey, Stiles"

 

"Yeah, dad?"

 

"You know those old curtains we have" He points towards the large French windows with his index. "Do you think it would fit onto there. I mean, we don't use it anyway. I was going to throw it out. Might as well put it to use" Stiles simply watches his father calculate where would be best to hang the curtains, not sure if his dad is joking or actually wants to continue on helping him shape up the loft "We have poles and brackets and everything. All we need to do is drill a few holes and that's it"

 

Stiles just chuckles, putting his arms over his father's shoulder. "Let's just go home for now, dad" He says, leading his father out of the place.

 


	5. werewolves have this weird moon fetish

As it turns out the curtains aren't even big enough to cover half of the window. They fall awkwardly midway down the length of the glass and the width isn't even close to meeting ends. But at least they can use the drill to hang up the shelves.

 

Stiles sternly says that it would be best for the shelves to be placed next to the door while his dad argues that shelves should never be that close to a door that large!

 

"Dad, we could put stuff on it, and anyone coming in would see it. That's better than putting them on some random wall." Stiles takes a flimsy attempt at convincing his dad, his flailing hand gestures talking for him.

 

In the end neither one of them get what they want, they place the shelves up on the empty space on the left side of the window. "Tell me where I should drill so it's not wonky" John pulls out a marker from the pocket of his jeans, adjusting the positioning of the place to drill ever so slightly "Here?" John asks, marking the place to drill a hole.

 

"Yeah, dad, for the last time, there is good" Stiles responds for the nth time, really not noticing the difference between all the same positions his dad claims to be different.

 

"Okay, but if it turns out wrong then you're the one that's going to have to explain it to Derek when he comes back" For a moment Stiles falls completely still. He wants to say 'you mean if he comes back' but then again he doesn't want to voice his doubt. Stiles knows he's doing a crap job of coming to terms with the idea that Derek may never come back, he doesn't need his dad to acknowledge it. He bites the inside of his cheek instead and takes his best chances at making a joke.

 

"I'll take the risk of getting my throat ripped out" Why Stiles even has to ponder about how he feels about the idea of never seeing Derek again is a mystery he's yet to unfold. He shouldn't care, right?

 

"He wouldn't rip your throat out, Stiles, don't be dramatic" His father almost laughs at him, holding the marker between his teeth as he reaches over to lift the drill.

 

"I know" It isn't difficult for his dad to notice the unusual tint of sadness in his son's voice, not when Stiles sighs the way he does.

 

"C'mere and plug this in for me" He instructs Stiles, changing the subject effectively. John doesn't understand; he thinks that maybe it's because Stiles has been tired after a long week of school and in his two short days of rest he's doing nothing to catch up on his sleep. But then again it was Stiles who was putting on a poker face to cover his excitement when his father told him he wants to help refurnish the loft this morning. John doesn't get the sudden change in his son's mood, but he doesn't ask. He's sure that if it's something that Stiles wants to talk about to him then he wouldn't hesitate to do so. Or at least John hopes that's the case. The sheriff only realizes that he's staring sceptically at his son when Stiles looks up at him, eyes widening slightly as if to say "What're you look at, dad? Do I have something on my face?" Stiles shifts uncomfortably so John returns his attention to his designated areas upon the wall and puts the drill to work.

 

Somewhere between the first and second hole that John makes in the wall he manages to hit something in the walls, sending a puff of red dust in his face. Stiles' first instinct is to laugh. And only then it is to worry that it's gone into his father's eyes when John flails his hands in the air, choking and coughing into his palm. John just rubs his face and laughs along with his son, blinking quickly as his fingers wipe away the dirt from his eyelids.

 

"Someone's happy" A familiar voice sounds from the doorway, heels clicking one after the other as Lydia makes her way down to them, her carefully curled hair draping over the shoulder of her blue dress. As always she looks like a goddess with her handbag looped over her arm, a twinkle in her eyes and a smile that could probably grow flowers from a rock.

 

"Hi, Lydia" John greets

 

"Hello, Mr Stilinkski" She responds politely. So many people have such a wrong impression of Lydia that it almost shocked John just how polite, caring and sweet she really was when he first met her. Shame on him for judging a book by its cover.

 

"What're you doing here?" Stiles approaches Lydia, disturbing his father's thoughts and bringing him back to the present.

 

"Nice to know that I'm welcome and wanted, Stiles" She jokes, settling her expensive looking bag upon the bed. "Scott said that you were giving this place a makeover, I thought I would be of help. Plus, Scott and I are mutually worried that you're going to start covering the place in plaid"

 

John snorts from where he's still using the sleeve of his shirt to remove the dust across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Stiles wonders if Scott is going to announce to everyone that Stiles' is decorating Derek's loft. The guy might as well have a neon sign saying Stiles Stilinski - loft decor above his head.

 

Lydia looks around the place, head turning from one side to the other as she soaks in all the differences that have been brought to the loft. "This wouldn't fit" She grabs the unused curtain when her attention falls to it, announcing what they already know by now. "It would make a nice tablecloth though" She feels the material with her thumb, investigating the pole holes on the end. "We could cut it up and use it for the table. Add a vase and a few flowers and it's going to be perfect. Cute but nothing over the top" She shrugs at what seems to be more of an analysis with herself than anything else. Her slim fingers pull out her cell from her small hand bag.

 

"What are you doing?" Stiles asks his own hands placed in the pockets of his over the worn hoodie. She's as graceful and memorizing as she was the first moment they met as she secures a few strands her strawberry blonde locks behind her ear, shaking out the material to get a better look.

 

"Scott's on his way. He said he wanted to see what you've done so I texted him to go to my house and get a few things for me to work with"

 

Stiles wants to ask Lydia why? Why is she telling Scott to bring more things? Why's she helping? But then again Stiles is too worried that Lydia will ask the same question in return. He's too worried that his curiosity will end up biting him in the ass and Lydia will retort with a; 'well, Stiles, why did YOU start this in first place?'

 

Stiles weighs up his chances and quickly figures that it's best for his own interest that he doesn't question anything and gets back to his father. Lydia helps herself to a tape measure from the sheriff's tool box before she climbs the ladder and takes the length and width of the grand window, tapping them into her phone notes. They look on as she crosses the room, holding her hand out like a picture frame every so often. "What's she doing?" John whispers to Stiles.

 

"I have as many clues as I do when it comes to when she talks about her shoes; none" Stiles simply responds, though he sounds far from unamused. "All I know is that Lydia Martin has never had an idea that has failed her" Stiles looks on fondly, the love he held so deeply in his heart for her clearly still alight. It might be a different kind of love, but it's still there. He still cares about her and he would still take a bullet for her. Even if that does mean he really hasn't thought of her clothes less or in his arms early morning or by his side late at night. "Anyway" Stiles holds up the drill for his father "Let's get back to work"

 

Before long Scott is climbing up the stairs and into the loft, hands occupied with everything Lydia had demanded.

 

"What the hell do you need a sewing machine for?" Is the first thing he asks.

 

"Compromise" She says, assisting him in putting everything down. "Did you get the fabric I asked you to get?" Her hands rummage through the box of things Scott brought in with himself, taking the occasional bits and pieces out to lay out on the table.

 

"Everything you asked for is in there" Scott nods, and frowns, at the box. Lydia sets up her sowing machine on the new table, taking her scissors and creame material with her. "What're you doing? And when did you learn to sow?"

 

"I got bored one weekend" She says. Of course she did, Stiles thinks. Lydia has so many hidden talents that if she were to list them down it would probably take more than a six-inch notebook to complete. He adores that about her and he appreciates that she adores him enough to sacrifice her Sunday afternoon, sitting behind a sowing machine when she could be doing anything else in the world "And plus" She focuses her eyes on the thread she puts through the needle "You need curtains and a tablecloth and my sewing skills will start getting rusty if I don't put them to use"

 

Stiles smiles down at her though she doesn't rip her attention away from her work. "Thanks, Lydia"

 

"Mhmm" She waves him off, breaking the thread with her teeth.

 

"Bro" Scott's eyes search the place, his strong hand resting on his best friends shoulder "Awesome job with the paint!" His usual adorable grin takes over his lips, eyes squinting in the process. Stiles wonders for a moment just how could his baby-faced best friend could earn the prestigious title of 'true alpha'? Or better yet how could it be that Scott, his baby-faced best friend, be such an amazingly loyal person. I'm truly surrounded by some of the best people, he thinks to himself.

 

"Thanks, man. Hey, can you help me bring those arm chairs over here" Scott's super werewolf strength means that Stiles doesn't even need to put any effort into lifting the chair, Scott practically carries them both to the center.

 

"When Derek comes back I have to praise him for his taste, those are some nice sofas" Lydia looks up from her machine for a moment before returning to stitching and cutting through her curtain. Stiles scowls at himself internally for being the only one that has the doubt of Derek's return. It's not like Stiles wants to have negative thoughts.... it's just lately when he thinks of Derek he also usually thinks of something along the lines of 'he's never coming back' and 'if he wanted to be here he wouldn't leave'. 'Optimism, Stiles!' his mental voice tells him for a change.

 

"So" Scott stands upright with his hands softly braced on his own hips "Where should we put them" Stiles hates him for not even breaking a sweat after carrying a double sized sofa and two arm chairs. What are werewolves even made of?

 

"What even are you, man?" Stiles squeezes his friends bicep "You're, like, turning into Derek with the whole muscles thing. Just minus looming presence" And now he's poking. "Just don't shove me against anything, that seems to be Derek's job"

 

"It's Derek's job to shove you against things?" Scott scoffs

 

"I meant the strength thing!"

 

But then again it really shouldn't surprise him anymore. Whatever is in the werewolf genes it sure as hell is more effective than steroids. Stiles has seen the werewolves move things that the world's strongest man couldn't imagine even budging. Especially on full moons. Stiles has first-hand witnesses the scary, yet a little awesome, effect the moon has had on the werewolves. "You know how werewolves have this weird moon fetish" Stiles remembers saying to Derek a long, long time ago.

 

"Oh, my gosh" Derek had whispered to himself, probably cursing whatever it was he'd done in his past life to be punished by having such a conversation. Back then Stiles had still been lingering in the 'annoying kid that I have to put up with because he's Scott's friend' territory, he still hadn't made it to Derek's 'Annoying Stiles that's really funny to argue with' territory.

 

"Well, what if you took a werewolf to the moon?"

 

"Stiles!" Stiles still swears to this day that Derek had barked his name. "If a werewolf was taken to the moon they would die of no oxygen. Now stop talking and wait until Scott gets back"

 

"Move the bed under the shelves once they're done" Now Lydia shouts over the noise of the drill and her own sewing machine. "Then put the sofa there" She points to between two of the pillars "and the armchairs on each side" She instructs further, clearly knowing the perfect placement of everything before Scott and Stiles have even had the chance to think about it.

 

"Yes ma'am" Scott salutes, already getting to work on Lydia's advice. No one argues, they know too well that what Lydia says in regards to decoration and style should always be heeded like gospel.

 

Stiles looks across the room to where his father is busying himself with the holes he's creating in the wall, stepping back every few minutes to check the angle and the position. Scott's pushing the sofa into the position Lydia had advised and Lydia herself is biting her bottom lip as she concentrates on her sewing. It makes him cheerful to see that everyone has been brought together for the same cause, so to say. And yeah, that might sound a little bit cheesy but Stiles aways had a thing for the cheesy and the cliche.

 

Stiles thinks that since everyone's working he should make himself useful and finds an old broom he found in one of the corner to brush away the dust left from the drill, making way for Scott to push the bed into its place. The shelves are high enough that Derek wouldn't be smashing himself, or anyone else, into them if he were to return. After all, Stiles thinks, they wouldn't want Derek or Braeden getting hurt. He sighs and helps Scott push the bed one more time until the mattress is against the wall, not that Scott really needed Stiles' not so forceful push.

 

Before the sheriff calls it a day on drilling Lydia has him climbing up the ladder to make some holes for the curtain pole while Scott and Stiles get scrubbing on the ground. "Who knew that the true alpha would be scrubbing his betas floors?" Stiles teases.

 

"Anything Lydia says, we do. No questioning unless we want a beating" Scott jokes. Scott and Stiles are close enough to her to know that Lydia is nothing as aggressive as outside people would think. As she grew up she even dropped the cold hearted cover she was wearing all along to show her true self. Her true friendly, kind yet strong-minded and smart self.

 

"Hey!" She calls, eyes still not moving away from her needle as her delicate hands fold the fabric into pleats. "I don't need extra senses to hear you, wolf boy, carry on working" She makes a fake whipping noise, resulting in both boys giggle on the ground like little children.

 

By the time the sun begins tucking itself away and the soft glow of its rays oozes in through the giant window the curtains are up and they are perfect. The colour goes nicely with the new pigmentation of the pillars and compliments the red bricks that have been left uncolored, already working towards giving the place a cozy, homely feeling. Not a single soul would be able to detect the difference between Lydia's homemade drapes and whatever expensive curtain you could buy at the shops.

 

And just like she said it would, the table looks great with the makeshift table cloth that's covering it. Apparently among the items that Scott was kind enough to pick up for Lydia there's a glass vase that curves at the bottom and up to the top where it holds a handful of colourful tulips. But the tables just looks too big for a single person to be sitting behind it. As built and muscular as Derek is, it's still far too large of a table to be for just one person.

 

"Why has he bought such a big table?" Scott asks casually as he spreads Lydia's diy-ed curtains over its surface, not really sounding like he's waiting for an answer. He tugs at the end of the material until it hangs off of the surface of the table equally all around.

 

"Probably because he doesn't want to eat alone anymore" Stiles takes it upon himself to respond to Scott's rhetorical question anyway, and none of them, including Stiles himself, say anything for a moment. They just stand over the table, watching over it like it's a book for them to read. Stiles didn't mean to make things so sad and intense, he just, sometimes, lacks the ability to string together the right words.

 

"Right" The Sheriff claps his hands together, finally breaking the unintended silence. "What are we going to do about chairs?"


	6. You're getting awful sweaty

There's an ever-growing list of changes that Stiles wants to bring to the place, like carpeting and a proper wardrobe for Derek to keep his clothes and maybe a t.v, but he has to be realistic. The lack of cash in his wallet means that he is very, very limited when it comes to what he is able to purchase.

 

But right now as he glances around the room and sees his father gathering empty buckets of paint into a plastic bag, his Alpha of a best friend mopping the concrete and the most beautiful girl in Beacon hills dusting off dirt from Derek's bed he knows that everything will work out just fine.

 

And the thing is every item that has been brought into the loft since they started might be used and second hand, they might be objects that are no longer useful to them in their own homes, but it fits into the loft like it was especially bought to be there. Like the cushions Lydia added onto the sofa that afternoon when herself, Scott, Stiles and the sheriff just met up there without planning it. Like the grey-fringed throw over that Stiles loves to wrap himself in when he sleeps over Scott's house that has been smoothed over the back of one of the armchairs by the true alpha. "Thought you might like it better here" Scott had said, beaming at Stiles while he had pinched and pulled the sides of the fleece into place. Stiles and his best friend have come to terms that they just won't ask questions in certain situations, and this is one of those. Why Scott thinks that his most comfortable, Stiles' most beloved blanket that Scott owns, should be at Derek's loft is a question he's not willing to touch with a ten foot pole.

 

They work non-stop for the next hour, busying themselves with random little jobs around the place.

 

"Right" Stiles' father says now as he finishes off bagging the empty paint containers along with other bits and pieces of rubbish laying around the place. "This" His finger points towards the ancient coffee table "needs to be thrown out" He grabs it by the leg and flips it over, testing to see how strong it is as he begins trying to break off the leg. Not so surprisingly, the leg is already pretty wobbly as it is. "I'm sure we have something to replace it within the garage or the shed" His father says as Stiles steps in before his father can hurt himself, carefully placing his forearm across his father's chest to move him away. He grabs the end of the wood of the leg and begins moving it from left to right the way his father had, bottom lip held between his teeth.

 

"I'll build him one myself if it means getting rid of this ugly piece of crap" Stiles says, pressuring extra strength into his movements now because the old junk doesn't seem to want to come apart. It isn't long before Scott steps in and sends the leg skidding across the ground with one kick, and then detaches the other three in the same manner. He acts like nothing has happened and gets back to mopping the concrete ground as John brings out another plastic bag and adds the broken wood to his collection of trash to be thrown out.

 

His father excuses himself after that and says that he needs to get to the station soon, escorted out the door by Stiles.

 

"Will I see you for dinner this afternoon?"

 

"Sure, I'll try" Stiles rubs his forehead as he replies, his voice is set in an uncertain tone as though he doesn't really want to be making any promises. It's easy to lose track of time, not just from his perspective but from his fathers too. If his father so happens to need to stay in the station an extra hour or two then their promise will be broken. Stiles doesn't like broken promises. The sheriff pats his son's arm, nods and leaves following a queue of goodbyes from Lydia and Scott.

 

Scott has reached the end of the loft, sweeping the mop up and down the surface in a constant pace in attempt to get that section of the ground as clean as the rest. "So, Rambo, ever thought of joining a wrestling team? I mean, the way you kicked those legs off you could probably send John Cena's head rolling across the ground" Stiles jokes and they laugh at his lame wrestling references as Scott dunks the mop back into the bleach-filled water, squeezing out the extra liquid out in the wringer.

 

Lydia comes down the spiral staircase with her arms around another bucket, this time filled to the top with fresh water. "You should use a big cloth and clean water to wipe after Scott otherwise this place will end up smelling worse than a pool with all that bleach" Stiles meets her half way, assisting her in setting down the heavy container.

 

"Wow!" He sets it down on the floor and quickly stands upright, hand going straight to his lower back. "Am I the only one without super strength? How the hell did you carry that down the stairs?" Lydia shrugs, going to fetch a cloth for Stiles to use. Scott's keeping himself extra busy with his mopping, his back kept to Stiles, sweat beginning to drip down the back of his neck. Stiles dips his hand into the water, feeling it's cold temperature on his skin. "Hey Scotty, you're getting awful sweaty, you know" Stiles blurts out in a humor filled yet mischievous tone, moving his hand fast enough to scoop out a good amount of water, watching as it flies through the air and lands right on his best friends back. Scott jumps from his place, startled by the sudden ice cold liquid running down his warm body, soaking right through his shirt.

 

"Oh my gosh!" Scott drops the mop, turning to show his mouth agape and eyes wide. His startled reaction only encourages Stiles to throw another splash of water, this time landing on Scott's face. Stiles shoots upright, throwing his hands into the air.

 

"Goal!" She shouts proudly. Scott leaps forward, grabbing the bucket in front of Stiles and using both hands to shovel out a puddle of water, making sure it lands right on Stiles.

 

Stiles returns home soaking wet that night, explaining why he's fully drenched to his father over dinner. There's a happy grin covering his face as he retells the story and John's too pleased that his son is in a good mood to remember to warn him that he might catch a cold next time he decides he wants to have a water fight.

 

The next day Stiles doesn't make a visit to the loft. His father tells him that he has plenty of time to return tomorrow and if he wants to survive until Derek returns to see the place then he has to take a day off and just rest. Stiles doesn't realize how grateful he is until he is showered, fed and tucked into his bed after school. He feels sore spots in his body where his muscles have been overworked, but that's the last thing on his mind every time he's at the loft. It's not until he's cozy and sleepy under his sheets that he makes sense of the fact that he needs to take some time off once in a while. Stiles hopes that maybe the next time he returns to the loft Derek will be there. He knows that rationally it's nothing more than wishful thinking but a sliver of his conscience hopes that there might be a chance. He drifts off to sleep too early that night, not waking up until his alarm rips him away from his slumber for another day of school in the morning.

 

Not visiting the loft for one day means that he returns to find a few new additions. The first thing that Stiles notices is a bright post-it note on the loft door saying "Lydia cleaned up after us and said that she would kill you if you took shoes into the place, she thinks it's enough that we decided to have a water fight indoors. I brought a pair of slippers to wear instead - use them if you want. Scott"

 

Stiles opens the door and there is, in fact, not only one but two pairs of slippers. A pink pair with a bow and a simple white pair. Stiles kicks off his sneakers, peeling off his socks and tucking them into his shoes. He slips on the plain slippers and walks down the loft.

 

There's a newly cleaned mirror hanging from one of the walls with another sticky note saying "Sorry, Stiles (or Derek?) but If I'm going to be spending time here then I need to see if my hair has fallen out of place. Lydia" in clear, cursive writing. Next to it hangs a black and white feathered dream catcher, loose net woven beautifully onto the willow hoop. Stiles knows that nightmares have become a part of Lydia's sleep routine, as they have become a part of each of their lives since this whole mess started. Stiles thought that purchasing her a colourful dream catcher would at least show her that someone else is going through the same thing. When he had presented it to her she had smiled gratefully, cheeks denting into gorgeous dimples as she had kissed his cheek and taken the dream catcher from his hand.

 

It was actually Derek's idea at the time.

 

"We're all getting nightmares" Stiles had said, blurting out what was a fact that everyone knew. Stiles had found his way to Deaton's vet and Derek just happened to be there. His leg had bounced restlessly, tip of his middle finger between his lips as he had bitten onto his nail. "I mean, I'm most concerned for Lydia. I have my father, Scott's a true alpha, but Lydia? She's alone at her house most of the time" He had been placed on a stool at Deaton's office, where Deaton himself had gone to get him a glass of water and Derek had stood close by, listening carefully to Stiles. Derek's hands had been hanging at his sides, eyebrows pulled up into what appeared to be a concerned look. Deaton had already rementioned that it was the aftermath of the terrors they were made to go through, though he had offered some kind of herbs for them to drink to help them sleep easier. Stiles already knew that was bullshit, he'd tried every sleep tablet in the pharmacy and each turned out to be borderline useless.

 

Derek had offered Stiles a ride home that afternoon. His fingers had thumped in an uncoordinated rhythm against the steering wheel, the pattering of raindrops against the windows beginning a symphony of their own as the rain had fallen and slithered down the length of the glass. Derek had a distant look in his features, yet to start the car while his eyes had trailed a few droplets of water tracing down the length of his windshield.

 

"What is it?" Stiles wasn't stupid, he noticed whenever someone felt like they wanted to say something but were restricting themselves. "C'mon, spill it out. You're shifting in your seat like you're the princess and you have a pea under you"

 

"Maybe this sounds stupid but have you tried dreamcatchers?"

 

"Dreamcatchers?"

 

"Yeah" Derek's thumb had rubbed over his nose once, then he'd pulled his keys out of his pocket. "When Laura was younger" Derek's voice had paused then and Stiles had wanted to say that Derek didn't have to go on but Derek had repaired his speech quickly. "Laura was young and she used to get these crazy nightmares." Derek's keys had rattled in his hand as he'd spoken with his gestures, something that he really didn't do too often. Stiles' leg had stopped bouncing then, his hand falling from his mouth and down to his lap. "I say young she was almost nineteen, actually" Derek didn't glance over at Stiles but the younger boy noticed from Derek's profile view that there had been so much love behind his words that Stiles had lost the ability to even say 'yeah' or 'mhmm' or anything that would have indicated that he was listening. "Anyway, I bought her a dreamcatcher. To be honest I thought she was going to throw it in my face. I don't think they worked but she absolutely loved it. Kept it till..." Then Derek's voice had dropped flat, the enthusiasm he'd held at the beginning of the sentence slowly drifting away.

 

Stiles should have said something at the moment, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder at least. Instead, he had just sat there like an idiot, motionless and too shocked that Derek was actually spilling his personal stories out for him to do anything. Derek had cleared his throat, closing the window that was open long enough for Stiles to take. Stiles will probably forever regret the moment he just remained unmoving in the passenger seat beside Derek.

 

Derek had started up the car as he'd spoken again. "Just thought Lydia might like one"

 

"She would" Had been the only two words Stiles had managed to muster up at that moment. Stiles managed to master the art of sarcastic replies when it came to Derek, but that didn't blank out the fact that he was well aware that there was always a time and place for things. Tell anyone that Stiles-hyperactive-Stilinski was ever lost for words when it came to speaking to Derek then they would probably scoff and say 'yeah, good one'.

 

But the truth is that was the first time that Derek ever spoke of a family member to Stiles. Maybe even to anyone at all since the Hale fire.

 

Now Stiles' thumb creases over the coal black feather, smooth and velvety under his skin. Lydia is either planning on sleeping here or she's detected that Derek could probably use a dreamcatcher himself. Stiles smiles, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror Lydia has placed beside the bed. His eyes don't look as tired as they had the day before, but his hair is a tangled mess from not being tended to or brushed in the morning. It makes him wonder what Derek looks like now.

 

Stiles has been sleeping in his own bed, at his own home, close to his pack and family and even he looks like he could use a few extra hours of sleep and a good grooming. Is Derek safe and sound, with hot water to wash in and a warm bed where he can catch up on a good night's sleep?

 

Is he being tortured and used somewhere where he's bleeding and stressed? Is he held up somewhere where his beard has grown longer than a cave mans and is being kept awake night after night while Stiles enjoys the comfort of his cozy sheets?

 

Is he even alive?

 

Stiles has to rub the heel of his palms into his eyes and swallow down the sudden lump in his throat to chase away the twisted feeling in his stomach.

 

His head turns from one side to another, trying to look for something to busy himself with before his negative thoughts get the better of him. But then again if Stiles was there to help him when he got shot then there's a good chance that Derek would be right here, standing right in front of him now.

 

He doesn't have anything to distract himself with, instead he bends over and braces his hands over his knees, taking in a few deep breaths in order to attempt to control his paranoia.  _He's alright, he would have gotten in contact by now if he wasn't_ , he tries to reassure himself.

_Get a grip_

_It's not all your fault_

_He will be back and you will see that it wasn't your fault he left_

 

Stiles has to call Lydia to make sure he doesn't lose his mind. Thankfully she responds before the third ring.

 

"Stiles? Are you okay?"

 

"Yeah, Lyds, I'm fine" He lets out a forced chuckle, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, breath still tight and heavy. He's slumped up against the closest wall now, knees brought up to his chest. "Just wanted to, uh" Stiles isn't sure what he wanted to say in first place but he knew that he didn't want to talk to his father and his best friend is a human lie detector, not that Stiles was really planning on lying, but his best option ended up being Lydia. "I, uh, thank you for the mirror and dream catcher, I guess"

 

Lydia stays silent for a moment and if Stiles couldn't hear breathing on the other line then he would have assumed that Lydia had hung up already.

 

"Where are you? Are you at the loft? I'm coming to pick you up"


	7. That Smug bastard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two references to The Walking Dead in this chapter but nothing someone who hasn't seen the show wouldn't understand.
> 
> As always, your comments and opinions mean so much to me so I would be grateful if you told me what you think! Thank youuuuu! :D

Lydia is laying on her stomach atop her bed, waggling a pen between her fingers as she highlights through her textbook. She's burning through the reading, licking her index and flicking over to the next page. Her phone vibrates from where it's charging, alerting her of a phone call. She tugs on the cord of her charger from where it's plugged in, pulling her phone with it.

 

Stiles' name is flashing on her home screen, a small icon of him with both his thumbs up appearing along with his name. Stiles isn't usually the phone call type of person, he is typically far more fond of text messages. Texting is much faster, apparently.She picks up but Stiles doesn't talk, so Lydia's first instinct is to wonder if something has gone wrong. "Stiles? Are you okay?" Lydia quickly gets onto her feet, already searching her desk for her car keys. She wonders if any of the pack members are in trouble and wishes that she could somehow channel her banshee instincts to find out something more than dead bodies."Yeah, Lyds. I'm fine" She hears Stiles chuckles on the other line, but Lydia notices the trembling strain on his forced happiness. Her car keys hang off the index she's put through the loop of her key ring, mobile phone held between her shoulder and ear while her free hand pulls her draw for a clean pair of socks. "I just wanted to, uh" Stiles says over the phone, clearly his call was spontaneous. Her phone is still held up by her shoulder as she struggles to pull her socks onto her feet, grabbing the first cardigan she can see before getting up and quickly bouncing down the stairs.

 

It takes Stiles the time between her grabbing her boots and putting them on to try and think of something he can use as an excuse for his call. "I, uh, thank you for the mirror and dream catcher, I guess" Lydia doesn't need to have mastered her banshee skills to be able to detect the stuttering in his voice and the uncertainty and the tag statement at the end of his sentence. Lydia unhooks her bag from where it's hung up, steps out of her house and locks the door behind her, her hair blowing in the air as she marches to her car and gets in.

 

"Where are you? Are you at the loft?" The chances are that he is at Derek's place, lately he seems to be spending most of his time there. "I'm coming to pick you up"

 

__

 

Stiles attempts to reassure Lydia that she doesn't need to go to him but his attempts are flimsy and he eventually gives up trying. He's standing outside when her car swerves around and halts in front of him. For a moment, Stiles is just standing there, twiddling his fingers together from where he watches Lydia. He detects that she must have gotten to him in a hurry because the colors of her blouse and cardigan don't even go together. Stiles sighs, firstly because he's an idiot for worrying her so much and secondly because she's so amazing that being in love with her all those years really wasn't a waste of time. She stares at him for a moment as she waits for him to get into the car, but then she rolls down her window.

 

"You coming in or are you waiting for me to open the door for you?" Her brow rises in a perfect half of an arch.

 

The car ride is uneventful. It's filled with awkward glances and Stiles avoiding eye contact at all costs. He just continues on fiddling with his fingers and biting his nails. At one point they drive down a familiar road, passing a giant billboard with a lousy advertisement for some weight loss shake. It's the same billboard he'd passed when he'd been driving down the same road in his own jeep, with Derek riding shotgun next to him.

 

Derek had just been shot in the arm, goo and slime working their way visibly up his veins. It was one of the few times Stiles had seen Derek in pain, and even then he'd managed to be completely fucking horrible to him. He thinks back to then and seriously? Warning a dying man not to bleed out on his car is pretty fucking heartless, even for Stiles. Stiles sighs and sinks further into his seat, teeth biting his bottom lip caught in between them.

 

They end up going back to Lydia's house.

 

Lydia places her bag back upon the hanger, kicking her shoes off and putting them back into place in her shoe cabinet next to her other row of boots and heels. Stiles makes his own way into the living room, sitting back into the cozy cushion of Lydia's couch. He stares at the fifty-inch flat screen hung up on the wall, not really sure what to do now. Lydia takes the empty space beside him, folding her legs onto the sofa.

 

Stiles is too quiet, stiff and unmoving in his place. Not too long ago he would have probably freaked out if Lydia invited him over and Lydia would have probably damned herself to hell if the words "I'm coming to pick you up" came out of her mouth. But it's different now. Lydia doesn't see him as the nameless guy at school who is head over heels for her, she sees Stiles as the friend she can count of for anything and the person she would risk her life for. 

 

Lydia pushed her hair back into a ponytail and uses the elastic band around her wrist to keep it in place, reaching out for the television remote on the arm of the chair.

 

"Right" She switched the t.v. on, stealing side glances at Stiles in search of a reaction. "Let's see what the Walking Dead is all about"

 

Derek, Stiles and herself had been victimized to torturous hours of research one evening not too long ago. "Dude" Stiles had sighed, adding another thick book to the stack of hardcovers and paperbacks on the table. "I could be doing anything but this right now" Lydia had sat herself down on Stiles' bed, not buying his pretended annoyance for a moment. She knew too well that if Stiles truly felt irritation at the thought of doing research for Derek then he would not have driven to every library in town for books that might be useful to him.

 

"Like what, Stiles?" Lydia had observed their behavior, watching Derek blink and respond.

 

"Like watch a show or something" Stiles had thrown his hand into the air, making Lydia roll her eyes from the sidelines "Do you even do that, Derek? Like normal people stuff?" Derek hadn't said anything to that, just folded his arms and sighed, glancing up from the pages on his lap. "I didn't think so, you don't even have a T.V."

 

"You would be surprised if I told you that I understand pretty much all the references you make, then" Derek had muttered after a beat, only after he'd returned his attention back to the book sitting on his thighs. Stiles' mouth had dropped open and Lydia had wondered if she was the only one in the room that was actually there for research and not just to chat. "You should probably give the walking dead a go" Derek had casually shrugged and closed his own book, handing it over to a shocked Stiles and had complacently walked out. 

 

"Did you see that?" Stiles had finally looked towards Lydia, finger pointing towards the door Derek left through. "That smug bastard making show suggestions to show me that he's an actual part of the normal world. I hate him!" And Lydia had wanted to say 'sure you do' but that would have taken too much effort and Stiles would, without a doubt, have wanted an explanation behind her statement. She'd just stuck with a nonverbal response of a nod and another roll of her eyes. 

 

Now Stiles' head shoots up. It's just a simple recommendation Lydia is making to watch The Walking Dead, but it's enough to make Stiles react. Before he left Jackson mentioned on a few occasions what Lydia preferred watching and a show about zombies didn't even get close to making it into the list. Clearly they both know why Lydia would be willing to give it a chance. 

 

"What? You think I can't handle watching a horror show?" She comments with a soft smile on her face as she turns to look at Stiles, clearly noticing his unwavering attention on the side of her head.

 

 

 

"I don't only watch the notebook now, Stiles. I'm a grown person" She nudges him with her elbow, thumb pressing buttons on her remote to locate the show on Netflix.

 

Stiles chuckles quietly and Lydia marks down the sound of his honest pleasure as a success.

 

__

 

"What the hell?" Stiles practically rises off of his seat halfway into the third episode, reactions being compromised by what's being played out on the screen. They have already gone through watching the intensity of several zombie attacks, acute escapes and they have both mutually agreed that they don't like the character of Shane. "He's such an asshole!" Lydia catches his elbow and pulls him back down to the sofa, laughing at his melodramatic reception.

 

Lydia considers what the situation would be like if it was Derek sitting beside Stiles instead of herself and she is almost too sure that Derek would be somewhere between hiding smiles and joining in with Stiles. The second option isn't as likely, but Lydia knows that he would at least _want_  jump up and scream at the screen. She knows that Stiles probably considers what it would be like if Derek was here far more than any other person should and wishes that Derek would simply get his shit together and come back. 

 

They watch the show in the comfort of each others presence, munching on the popcorn Lydia placed on Stiles lap somewhere between the third and fourth episode. They finish four episodes of the first season before Stiles notices the disappearance of sunlight outside and the lateness of the time.

 

"I should get going" Stiles says right before Lydia can move onto the next episode. "It's getting late"

 

"You could just stay, you know. I'll call Scott and Kira and they can come too because I'm not sure if I love you enough to drive you back to your Jeep right now" Her teasing tone brings a smile to Stiles' face. "Besides, I think I'm a little hooked to the show now. I don't really binge watch shows but when I do then I do it properly, Stilinksi" She picks up his phone from where it's been left on the table and hands it to him. "Text Scott and tell him to bring something for you to change into as well" She plays the fifth episode and sits back into her seat. "Or you could wear my silk nighties, your choice" Stiles snorts at Lydia's joke and taps in a message for Scott and another to his dad to tell him he won't be home tonight.

 

___

 

There's one thing that's unreasonable about a sleepover on a school night and that is the fact that neither one of them put into consideration the fact that they actually have to get up early the next morning. By the time Scott and Kira made their way to Lydia's house, it was already past eleven O'Clock at night and they were reaching the seventh and last episode of the season. Scott and Kira had gone right to the kitchen to make a late night dinner, ignoring the howls of complaints coming from Stiles and Lydia about how Rick is an idiot for shooting the zombie because hasn't he learned by now that noise attracts more walkers!? "Dumbass!" "Idiot" They say in sync.

 

After that, they'd huddled around Lydia's laptop with plates of noodle stir fry, stuffing their faces with their food as they'd laughed at funny animal compilations. Their night hadn't ended until the early hours of the morning when Stiles had felt his head becoming heavy and rolling forward every so often. Then, and only then, had they pulled out the inflatable mattress for Scott and himself while Lydia and Kira slept upstairs.

 

It was a good night and Stiles fell asleep feeling somewhat content and happy.


	8. When are you coming back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think! :D

Stiles is giving his room a good old clean one afternoon, clearing out the rubbish that's been piling up under his bed, rearranging the bits and bobs in his draws. He's wiping the surface of his nightstand when he accidentally knocks over his jar of pens and sends them tumbling to the back of his nightstand. Stiles huffs out a deep breath and rubs his thumb over his temple, dropping the cloth and getting to work on trying to budge the nightstand out of the way. His arms brace around the wood, all his strength put into his arm muscles to try and budge the nightstand over. He secures one of his foot onto the wall and pushes and only then he's able to get it moving with his weak human power. His hands reach down to collect the scattered pens when he notices something else laying along with the pens. It's a photograph of Derek to be more specific.

 

In the image Derek's has his arms folded across his broad chest, face not looking in the direction that the photo has been taken. Stiles sighs, a slight smile reaching his lips when he remembers that moment. He'd been trying to take a sneaky picture of Derek all day. He was planning on making a scrapbook for Scott's birthday so he was collecting images and memories; Of people they know, places they've been, things they have seen. And no doubt Derek made it into the category of people who changed their lives forever and as Stiles looks down at the image he realizes just how drastic those changes really are. How drastic of a change it is now that Derek isn't here, Stiles thinks as his thumb rubs over the image.

 

The smile upon his face drops when the idea crosses his mind that maybe this is the only thing he has left of Derek. This and a building Derek will probably never roam through again.

 

"When are you coming back?" He quietly pleads with the picture.

 

 

There's a growing tightness spreading from his chest all the way up his throat and down his shoulders, slowly taking over his whole body. Stiles clears his throat, sniffs and places the photo in the back pocket of his jeans, quickly getting the image out of sight before he has a chance to break down in his bedroom. 

 

________________________

 

Stiles digs the spoon in for another portion of pasta, scooping as much cheese as he can onto his plate. "Mmm" He knocks his head back, eyes firmly closed all while making noises of appreciation. "This is amazing!" He babbles with a generous amount of food shoveled in his mouth. He's sure that his father's scowling at him, he can practically feel his father's glare burning a hole in the side of his head. Melissa, on the other hand, just lightly chuckles, allowing the deep creases around her face to become visible.

 

Lydia, Scott, his father and himself had gathered up in the loft to do some more cleaning and at the end of the day Melissa had invited the load of them for dinner. She'd firmly insisted that she had made way too much food for just her and Scott and that they just had to join them. Besides, everyone who ever tasted her cooking knew that rejecting the offering of food from Melissa McCall was a stupid mistake. No one in their right mind would say no to her fresh, delicious, homemade dishes. Stiles watches the cheese atop his sharing of pasta bake melts deliciously over the sauce, his tongue darting out to wet his top lip before he begins eating his way through his second serving.Stiles has spent a good proportion of hours flicking through recipes to keep his cooking interesting and find new ways to get his father to eat the same five types if vegetables he buys, but nothing comes close to the food made by Ms. McCall."Thank you, Stiles" Stiles is glad that she's taking it as a compliment and not grimacing at his inappropriate way of expressing his liking to her cooking. "I'm glad you came for dinner" She says like she's addressing everyone on the table, even though her attention finally lands on John and if Stiles didn't know any better he would say that his father is blushing. Melissa behaves equally as flustered, her eyes darting away from the man and down to her food quickly. Stiles and Scott exchange an all-knowing look, hiding their smirks behind their pasta loaded forks."Looks like you two really are going to be brothers after all" Of course it would be Lydia who doesn't even bother acting like she doesn't notice the elephant in the room. Stiles bites his tongue because the last thing he wants to do is get grounded and Scott excuses himself to the bathroom, even though they can all hear him laughing behind the door.Melissa clears her throat awkwardly, piling an extra load of pasta onto her plate. Both Ms. McCall and Stiles' father play with the food in their dishes without eating, moving the pasta from one side of the dish to the other, their forks scraping against their plates. Lydia, on the other hand, looks at Stiles and raises an eyebrow as if to say 'See what I did there, Stiles?'. And yeah, maybe if he wasn't sitting at a table with his  disproving father and the only mother figure in his life then he would high five Lydia but for now he just winks at her and they both grin at the embarrassed parents."So, Stiles" Melissa finally says, setting her fork down as she wipes her hands off with the napkin. "How's school" Is this a punishment of some sorts?"Stiles is currently busy with project Derek" Scott mentions as he walks back into the room once he's gained back his posture.This time it's Stiles' turn to act like he can't hear what anyone is saying, chewing on more food even though his stomach already feels like it's reached its limit."Oh, project Derek?" Ms. McCall says curiously and she finishes off, wipes her lips and folds her arms on the table. "What'sproject Derek? Are you trying to woo him or something?" And if Stiles didn't know any better he would say that Melissa is getting back at him for embarrassing her. She's got that smirk on her face. Stiles shrugs, acting oblivious."No, just tidying up the loft for us to use as somewhere to meet up" Stiles weakly explains, probably more unconvincing than he initially intended on sounding. And... wait a minute; did she say 'woo Derek'? Why would Stiles try too 'woo Derek'? He drains down his food with a large glass of water."Oh, and what have you done so far?" Stiles would like to say that he wishes she would stop asking but in all fairness he does want to boast about what a change he has already made."Just a little cleaning up, a little painting, got a table and a few shelves. New sofas Derek already bought. Curtains and stuff""Maybe I should come and have a look at the place, after all I would want to know where my kids are going for pack meetings." Stiles' eyes widen. He swallow loudly and slowly sets his fork down on the plate. He can't remember the last time anyone other than his father refer to him as their kid. He likes it and thinks that maybe he could even get used to it. He can tell that his father feels the same. He's wearing the soft look on his face, the type where his eyes look happy and his lips stretch into a slight smile without him even intending on it."I'll pick you up tomorrow if you want" The sheriff says "After school, I'll be off work too. If you don't have work then we can all go" Scott smirks and raises his eyebrows at Stiles from across the table, Lydia finishes her food and doesn't talk while she watches the conversation unfold.

 

_____________At lunch, the following day, Scott is telling Malia, Kira and Liam about the transformation in Derek's loft. "You should see it" His hands stand up in the air, excitement showing in his big gestures. "This guy did such a great job!" Scott rests his hand on Stiles' shoulder, giving him his well-deserved credit."Speaking of Derek" Stiles finds his chance and he takes it "Did you call him?" He's tried so hard to bite his tongue down all day, and he's done a pretty good job at it. He hasn't asked until now, which is impressive considering the fact that usually when he wants to know something he doesn't shut up about it until he has his answer.Scott scoffs "We weren't 'speaking of' Derek, we were talking about Derek's loft" He fills his mouth with a spoonful of strawberry yogurt and Stiles rolls his eyes. And then he worries for a split second that he's picked up Derek's habits. He must be hanging around that damnloft too much already. "But yeah, I did call" Scott takes another spoonful of his dessert into his mouth and it feels like it takes forever for him to swallow it. Stiles almost feels his heart jump out of his chest just waiting for Scott to tell him what happened. He's surprised that his werewolf friend hasn't noticed that he's about to have a freaking heart attack if he doesn't speak already. "He didn't answer".Stiles doesn't say anything so Scott moves on, talking to Liam about some project they have to do for class. Stiles' mind, on the other hand, is frozen. He feels like he's been drenched in cold water and then placed in a freezer because suddenly he understands. Is no one else getting this?"What if he's been captured again?" Stiles suddenly bolts again, disturbing whatever it is that the rest of the pack were talking about. Their alpha halts mid-sentence to looks at him the same way he's got everyone else' eyes fixed on him. "What if he's being held up somewhere? Being tortured or some shit?" He says in a voice much too loud for the half empty cafeteria."Dude" Scott almost whispers as he looks around "calm down""Are you okay?" Lydia reaches over the table to hold onto his hand. And no. No, he's not okay. First he left Derek to die and then he didn't think twice that maybe, just maybe, Derek isn't as okay as he thought he is. "I doubt that anything is wrong with Derek, he's just taking some time off. He'll be back" Stiles wants to believe it, he really does, but he seems to have the world's worst freaking guilt complex. Lydia's thumb creases the back of hid hand softly, Scott's palm soothing over his best friends back. Even Malia and Liam offer their own reassuring comments."Yeah, man. We all know he's stubborn. I met him a few times and even I picked that up" Liam says, followed by Malia's "Yeah, he'll be back"And yeah, maybe now Stiles can see that he did over react a little. Surely if there was something wrong him and the pack would have known by now. Besides Derek left on his own terms. He and Braeden create quite the duo and nothing could possibly happen to them, right?Stiles apologizes, puts on one of his fake smiles and gets on with the rest of the day.To say that he completely forgets the chances of Derek being in trouble after that wouldn't be entirely true. Sure, he reassures himself that there's nothing wrong over and over again, but there's a nibbling thought in the back of his mind constantly reminding him that there is a small chance that something isn't right.

 

____

 

After school, the sheriff messages him that himself and Melissa are already at the loft. Kira decides that she wants to see the place so she tags along with Scott, taking a ride with him on the motorbike. Liam, Malia, and Lydia join Stiles in his jeep. Stiles doesn't say as much as he usually does, mostly just listens to everyone else talk about different subjects throughout the ride. He absentmindedly bites his nails and Lydia has to gently pry his fingers away from his lips to remind him that if he doesn't stop then he might chew off half his finger.Once they arrive Stiles sees a new addition to the furniture that was already occupying the building. It's an oak nightstand next to the recently unused bed, with three draws and a little lamp sitting atop it. Stiles' father is plugging the lamp into the wall and Melissa is wiping down the nightstand with a cleaning cloth. "Hey guys" She greets. "What do you think, Stiles?" She stands upright in her usual outfit of cardigan, shirt and trousers. Her hands rest on her hips, like the proud mother figure she is. "It was in my room, but I was thinking about throwing it out anyway""Oh here" Malia interrupts before Stiles has the chance to speak. "Peter gave me this" She takes a photo frame out of her bag, walking to the nightstand where she places it carefully next to the lamp. In it there's a picture of a middle-aged lady, a slightly older man, a teenager and three kids. Derek is the first person that Stiles recognizes out of the children. He looks slightly younger than he was that one time he got de-aged. He has an easy and genuine smile on his face, eyes lit up so innocently. Next to him are his sisters, Cora, and Laura. They, too, look so carefree and without worries. Even Peter's teenage self is wearing a smile that doesn't look like he's actually planning murder. And then, finally, there are the parents. They have their arms around each other's shoulders, protectively huddling their children together in front of themselves. It's beautiful and yet so heartbreaking, Stiles thinks. What will Derek think when he sees this? What will Derek think if he ever returns to see this?"And thisone" Malia says, pulling out another photo frame. This time, she sets it down on the first of the shelves that Stiles and his father had hung up above the bed. It's a golden frame holding a picture of them. Derek is in the middle looking like a bodyguard with his arms securely folded across his chest, legs standing strong slightly apart from each other, a posture Derek seems to have held far too often in Stiles' opinion. Stiles is to his right making a peace sign, Scott and Kira are in the corner smiling so wide that they eyes have disappeared, Lydia is standing like a model, using Stiles' shoulder as her personal armrest and Liam and Mason have just about poked their heads into the picture from behind Lydia. Malia stands between Derek and Kira and even the sheriff and Melissa have got themselves into the frame in the background, their thumbs up in the air.Stiles likes it.It isn't perfect, the lighting is a little off and he remembers how cold it had been as they had stood in the half wet grass. But it had been nice. It was right after they had gotten rid of Kate for the god knows how many times and yeah, maybe it hadn't been the best day of their lives but it's a memory never the less. So Stiles likes it. Allot."Okay" Melissa brings his attention back to the present, clapping her hands together. "I brought a rug too, Stiles and Liam you go bring it upstairs from John's car, Malia and Lydia you can take the trash out" Her index finger waves in the direction of the bags of dirt and used paint products that have huddled up in the corner of the room.

 

It's a patina brown rug that fits perfectly in the middle of the sofas that Melissa has brought with herself. There's a stain that Stiles barely notices when laying it out directly in the middle of the round of sofas and armchairs, that's probably made from raspberry juice, but it's nothing too obvious. Damn Scott for loving raspberry juice and having butter fingers. Scott and Kira arrive far too late, but Stiles decides to forgive them since they carry the gift of pizza.

 

"Ah, Scott!" Stiles takes the two boxes out of his friends hands, along with the bag of curly fries and bottle of Cola. "You're the man!" They don't sit at the table, there are no chairs. Instead, they get comfortable on the sofas and Stiles doesn't even scowl at his dad once for the extra slice of pizza he has. He's far too busy listening to his father and Melissatalk about funny stories at work that day before sharing his own hilarious stories about school and coach."You should have seen it!" He snorts. "Greenberg's face looked like he was going to puke!" And yeah, maybe talking about puke over dinner isn't the best thing to do but it's funny, okay? They laugh and eat and laugh a little more and Stiles wonders what Derek would say if he were here. Stiles seems to have that thought allot lately. He has the same thought when he's sitting on top of his bed that night, hope that nothing is wrong and if there is something wrong then he hopes that Derek gets his wolf ass to contact someone in the pack. And soon.

 

He takes a deep breath and reaches over to his pocket. Panic hits him when he realizes the pocket is empty and then remembers changing his jeans not too long ago. He frantically checks under his bed, his draws and wardrobe. Every pair of jeans he owns is pulled out and checked twice each before he scrambles down the stairs and to his washing machine. The worry that covers him is quickly washed away with a splash of relief when he finds the picture has been placed on top of the washing machine. Stiles quickly grasps hold of the image and brings it up to his chest, noticing a note left on a scrap piece of paper.  _How many times do I have to tell you to take things important to you out of your pockets before you bring your clothes down to be washed?_  his fathers scribbled handwriting is scrawled across the piece of paper. Stiles is glad that his father is asleep already because he really doesn't want to be explaining why he has a picture of Derek in his pocket, not with a flushed face and jittery hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately I am the kind of person that can't write without music so I should make a playlist for all the songs I listen to in order to help me write this fanfic. Here they are and I have also added some of the Lyrics just to explain why. At the moment they're very 'I miss you', 'come back' and 'home' centric.
> 
> The first one is 'In a week' by Hozier. I am so completely in love with this song and without a doubt this song was on repeat when I was writing the first few chapters. This one is slow and calm, it's great for settling down and just typing away. "I'll be home in a week..." But then again anything by Hozier at the moment is just wow, he's awesome!
> 
> Two songs by Kodaline "All I want" cause "All I want is nothing more, than to hear you knocking at my door" and I mean how more do these lyrics have to be???
> 
> 'Gone gone gone' by Phillip Phillips because c'mon! "I'll love you long after you're gone gone gone" and also the "I'll lie, cheat, I'll beg and bribe to make you well" *wipes away tear* This one is a little bit faster but I love it equally as much.  
> 'Welcome Home' sung by Radical Face. This one is my Derek song. "Peel the scars from off my back, I don't need them anymore. You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars. I've come home" ;) .... Like I said, patience.  
> 'Big eyes' by Matt Corby. I love how slow and calm this song is. I actually have a very song centric chapter coming up soon and this is the song.
> 
> 'Come home' by Onerepublic because "come home, come home cause I've been waiting for you for so long" and also "There's someone I've been missing, and I think that they could be the better half of me" and I think that just basically describes Stiles perfectly.
> 
> 'I miss you' by Ed Sheeran because this song is all about missing someone and I think it just fits very well. Besides "I miss you more than I let on" Is just perfect.
> 
> 'Home' by Gabrielle Aplin "Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone" This song is amazing and her voice is so calming and beautiful.


	9. The person you are trying to call is unavailable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep me updated on what you think! Thank you and enjoy! :D

Between the eating of Pizza and the sharing of tales of the day, the night before, Stiles found another opportunity to try to figure out if Scott had received a call from Derek. His best friend had sighed and pulled his phone out, sending a text to Stiles in front of him.

 

"There" Scott had placed his phone back into his back pocket "That's his number, text him if you want" His best friends hand had raised and softly landed on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, with a look in his eyes that Stiles can only label as sympathetic. Why? Stiles doesn't know. But Scott had turned and started a different conversation with Malia, closing space and chance for Stiles to ask anything.He awakens the next morning and his first thought is that he really doesn't think it's a good idea to text or call Derek. Derek will probably just answer Scott's messages in his own time. So his phone gets tucked into his jacket pocket while he makes himself a sandwich, rummaging his mind for what he should text Derek. Which is stupid because he's not going to text Derek. He keeps telling himself that until he's sitting on his living room sofa, biting into his bland food and staring at the t.v. he hasn't turned on yet. Fuck it, he thinks before putting down his food and fishing out for his phone. He swallows down the last of his chewed bread and unseasoned chicken, unnecessarily locking and unlocking his phone screen several times over again. _Hey man,_  he finally types in,  _I need your help with something. Text me back when you can. Stiles btw._  He blinks a few times at his message, changing the 'I' to 'we' before hitting send.

 

 

A deep breath he inhales in quickly gets exhaled, and then the panic hits. What if he actually replies? Stiles doesn't need anything. Not really. Nothing other than to know what the hell it is that Derek is up to lately. So what's he going to say he needs if by some obscure chance Derek actually gets his head out of his ass and replies? But then the whole day passes and he doesn't get anything, which he convinces himself is a good thing. He wouldn't know what to say anyway.

 

___________________________________

A few nights in the week all of them end up huddled in the loft, having dinner and a nice gathering together. They could easily meet up in one of their houses, but it just feels more comfortable and right being at the loft. They make a routine out of it and every night that they meet one of them ends up adding something new to the place. Even Mason ends up joining them a few times. Mason brings with himself a white hammock that he ties between two of the pillars which quickly becomes Stiles' favorite place in the loft.Kira brings in a stack of her favorite boardgames and stashes it behind the hole in one of the walls, claiming that it will eventually be put to good use. She says it's a must if she's going to be at the loft as often as she plans to be.Lydia hangs up three small canvas', each with a word of 'come sweet home' painted cursively across a background of detailed, floral painting. It's got her name on the bottom corner so she must have made them. Stiles is seriously not even surprised that her relentless number talents exceed out to painting too. Stiles places his bat next to Mellisa's nightstand, making sure that his favorite, and very human weapon, is somewhere in the building. If there's one thing that he's learned about having the unfortunate fate of being best friends with a bunch of people who grow claws, scream for death and grow an excessive amount of hair far too quickly it's is that he always needs a weapon around. Anyone could threaten hisfury friend's at any given time.--------------Stiles is checking his phone for a message when his father returns home one day, struggling to bring in with himself a large table. Stiles quickly scrambled to the doorway where he helps his father bring it in. "Dad, what the hell is this for?"They set it down in the hallway, giving the sheriff a chance to breathe in some oxygen and regain his strength. He has a hand over his heart as he breathes heavily, his face bright red with his forehead almost moist with sweat. "I saw it at one of those thrift shops, really cheap" He lets his hands fall now that he's gotten the oxygen circulating his body again."Okay, and what made you think you should get it?" Stiles looks skeptical."For the loft, after all I was the one who broke Derek's table and threw itout" John says so casually, as though it's something that should be so completely normal by now. His father's four fingers wipe the wood and Stiles really doesn't know what to say. What, maybe, or a why? Because he wasn't really sure when reconstructing the loft became so important to everyone else, including his dad, but Stiles is glad it's bringing everyone together. He's glad that there's a place for all of them to go and see each other and bond and just be the extended family he always needed. Stiles just reaches out and grabs his father, pulling him in for a tight hug."Oh" The sheriff makes a sound, clearly caught off guard, but then his arms wrap around his son and Stiles can practically feel his father smiling. His father is buying things for the loft. Not just gathering stuff they don't need in the house but actually using money to buy things. Stiles feels warm, not just physically but inside he feels like there's something being set off that flutters all through his chest.

 

He was reluctant, but he must admit now that at one point he did feel lonely. He did feel like he didn't get enough time with his family and friends or that they were simply too busy to make time for him; but now he doesn't. And all it took to erase all those insecurities was Derek's loft and a some spare time to spend there. If only Derek were here to feel the happiness alongside everyone.

 

Stiles messages Derek again that night.  _We kind of personalized the loft. You should see it!_  To which the only replies he gets are the ones he constructs in his head.----------A few days pass before Stiles tries contacting Derek again.His name is there, written across his screen, big and bold. Derek. Will he answer or will this be another useless attempt? Derek. Will he finally put Stiles' thoughts to peace by speaking a few simple words to say he's okay? Derek. Will he be pleased that Stiles is making an effort or will he be angry that Stiles is being annoying? Derek. And he finally hits dial.A few rings and then the automated voice speaks. _The person you are trying to call is unavailable at the moment, please leave your message after the tone. Beep._ Stiles is his awkward self and for a moment he doesn't actually say anything. "Uh..." He wasn't really planning on staying on the phone long enough for it to reach voice mail, but he's here now so he might as well say something "I, um, hi Derek. Just wanted to know if everything was alright. We just wanted to know if you're good so don't be an asshole" Stiles chuckles weakly. "Give one of us a call or something when you can, okay?" He scratches the back of his head, pacing up the length of his bedroom once again. "So yeah. Okay bye."He puts the phone down and sighs. A long and deep sigh. Why is Derek ignoring them?

 

Early morning, the next day, Stiles checks his phone first thing. Nothing. Not even a text message from Scott. He just stays in the same position in his bed for a bit, knowing too well that if he doesn't get up soon then he will surely be late for his first class, yet he just lays there and flicks though his home screen. As predicted he ends up being late to school that morning, driving into the parking lot way past the bell. He just about avoids a detention.

 

At lunch, he asks Scott if he's heard anything from Derek.Again.He doesn't even seem to care about toning it down anymore."No man, sorry." Scott shakes his head, eyebrows slightly scrunched together. His best friends hand rests behind his back, rubbing comforting circles into his shoulder blade.Stiles wants to smile and assure his alpha friend that it's fine, but it's not fine. So he just nods. Stiles is way past pretending that he just feels guilty. He wants to know where Derek is, what he's doing and if he's okay and there doesn't seem to be any way of hiding it now.He remembers how often Derek used to call him annoying. He didn't really make much of it then. Derek did try his very best to pretend that everything that Stiles ever didirritated the living hell out of him but even Stiles knew that wasn't true. Stiles knew because he detected whenever Derek's lips would twitch just a little, clearly holding back amusement. Stiles knew because of how willing Derek constantly seemed to be to drop everything whenever himself or another pack member got into trouble. Stiles knew because he saw it all, nearly every single day.After school, he's home alone, his mobile phone in his hand. The worried boy feels as though he's balancing a giant brick on his palm. A giant brick that's on fire. He puts his phone down on his bed, impatiently paces around the small space of his room a few times and then picks it up again.Now it's different. Now he doesn't see Derek. He doesn't know if he's truly annoying Derek with his constant messaging and leaving of far-too-long voice mails or not. Surely he must have replied by now if he wanted to, Stiles thinks, he knows that Derek closely patrols the  anti-social line, but even he should know how to use a phone. He flicks through his messages every few minutes like a response is magically going to appear. And Stiles knows that every time he checks it's going to be no different, but he can't help it. He feels pathetic and stupid... And fucking angry, because doesn't that stupid dog know that there's still people here that care about him, even if Derek doesn't seem to give a shit?Stiles tightens his fingers around his mobile device, and for a moment he's really glad he doesn't possess the super wolf strength because if he did then he would have surely smashed his phone to pieces by now. And you know what, he takes it back! He really,  _really_  can't stand Derek freaking Hale. He inhales a deep breath, strips himself of his clothes and steps into the shower.

 

Stiles stands under the water that pats over his skin, letting himself feel as pathetic as he is.  _Get yourself together, you big fucking baby!_  He angrily warns himself to stop moping like a child, but it's no use. He can't stop it, no matter how much he knows that he's being completely irrational and stupid. 

 

Later he lays awake for so long that he's not sure if maybe he should try counting sheep or punching fury into his pillow. He flips from one side to another and curses his mind for not putting a rest to his thoughts. Eventually, he just ends up thinking 'Derek' shortly followed by 'asshole'. Stiles forces his eyes shut, trying to think of something that doesn't involve dickhead werewolves that disappear without a word or a trace, but, again, it's useless. The next few days follow in the same manner and Stiles wishes that he could control what thoughts go through his mind, but sadly there's only so much control people have over their own heads. He hates it. He hates the way his anger boils over without his consent, he hates the fact that he cares so much especially when Derek doesn't seem to and he, most of all, just hates Derek for leaving in first place.He dials Derek's phone number into his phone in the heat of the moment one day, a few rings followed by the familiar automated answer machine. _The person you are trying to call is unavailable at the moment, please leave your message after the tone. Beep._ "Listen, you fucking asshole!" Stiles feels his heart thump and his voice threatens to roar in rage. "I have had it to here with you! Who the hell do you think you are leaving us all worried out of our minds, huh? You should at least have the decency to call one of us or text one of us just an 'I'm ok', you dick!" His voice gets shaky and his hands are almost trembling and he doesn't really know why his body is reacting so weirdly but he knows that if he doesn't put the phone down he might lose his freaking mind. So he does and then grabs his keys and drives to Scott's house.He cries when he's there. Actual tears mixed with snot and heaving kind of cries. He tells Scott that he misses his mother and that school is putting too much pressure on him. Which is true for the most part. He doesn't mention that guilt is eating him up inside. He doesn't mention that he can'tfreaking manage to go on a single day without thinking that he ruined Derek's life. And he most certainly doesn't mention that he might or might not actually miss Derek. His scowling, his eye rolling, his sighing, his subtle smiles, his caring for his pack. His general presence.Scott just holds him and tells him that everything will be alright. His friend never fails to offer Stiles the sense of home, so Stiles clutches willingly onto him until he calms down enough to stop the tears from falling. He stays with Scott that night. His own house is too empty to endure while his father is at work.

 

 

Scott wraps his best friend in a blanket, heats some of his mothers home made lasagne up for dinner and listens to Stiles talk even though, surprisingly, there isn't much talking. That usually only happens when Stiles is holding something back or he doesn't want to dish out too much information, but forcing his best friend to speak before he's ready isn't Scott's job. Making sure he's there for Stiles is. And besides, Scott doesn't need werewolf powers to be able to read his friend. He could probably write an encyclopedia on Stiles and realizing when there's something up with him comes more natural to Scott than breathing. He doesn't even need to hear the skip in his heartbeat to note down a lie, Scott can tell from the way Stiles squints, usually looks down at his hands, and his shoulders tense up when the truth isn't coming out of his lips. Yet Scott doesn't pry, he doesn't enter territory he knows aren't open for an investigation yet.  

 

It's a few hours before Stiles is ready to try to sleep. The rim of his eyes are stained with red lining from where he had been crying, his cheeks still flushed and his general look is just giving off an exhausted vibe. But at least now, as he lays down with his forearm under his head and the blanket pulled up to his chin, his eyes closed and his lips slightly apart, he looks tiredly peaceful, as odd as that sounds.  Scott stays awake until Stiles finally drifts off to sleep before he takes the still almost full plate of food downstairs. 

 

________________________  
 

 

When the next day arrives with the morning sun oozing in through the small gap between Scott's curtains Stiles wakes up to a line of bright light shining directly across his face. He wants to get up and help himself to whatever breakfast foods is in the kitchen, cooking it andwaking Scott up like he usually does, but he just can't be bothered. He's stillnakard and all the crying has clearly taken its toll because his brain feels like it's gone to mush inside his skull. He does a few quite breathing exercises attempting to clear his mind and avoid any thoughts, but then as long as he's awake he knows that his mind will never give him an ounce of rest.In the end, he has to admit that at this point he is seriously okay with just a text from Derek saying "I'm alright, leave me the hell alone". And that just makes him realize how simply deplorable he is being. He's laying next to Scott at the early hours of the morning, his best friend still deep in sleep on his stomach tranquilly. Stiles would probably make a dog joke to himself if he didn't feel so disconnected from humor right now, but he can't find the energy so he just swings his legs out from under the blanket and gets out of bed. He uses one of Scott's spare toothbrushes to clean his teeth, washing his face over with cold water and soap a few times. Stiles peaks his head out of the door and checks that Scott is still asleep then firmly closes the bathroom door, sitting fully clothed on the toilet he's not going to use.He unlocks his phone and dials the now familiar number. It's probably way too early to be pestering anyone, but then again it's way too early for Stiles' own thoughts to be pestering  _him_  the way they have been. _The person you are trying to call is unavailable at the moment, please leave your message after the tone. Beep._ He's hesitant, and wonders if it's best if he just puts the phone down but then again this is probably just going to fall under Derek's long list of voice mails from Stiles he's never going to open. So he speaks. "Hey Derek, listen, I'm sorry about last night." He thought of this before calling, why can't he think of his well-rehearsed lines now? "I, uh, yeah I just - I'm just sorry. I shouldn't have gotten mad at you like that" Stiles scratches his temple and exhales a deep breath, his legs bouncing restlessly. 

 

His lids are heavy and his skull might crack from the pain his head is in, his knuckles brushing over his eyebrows as though they will magically take the aching away. "So yeah, if you want to reply then okay if not then whatever" That couldn't be any further from the truth and Stiles knows it, but maybe if he fakes it enough then it will eventually become true. He puts the phone down and just sits there for a bit. Then he washes his face one more time and leaves the bathroom.

 

And yeah, he is so completely beyond petty because he's just about out of the bathroom when his mind tells him what he sent was ridiculous and he should probably send another voice mail. Then again, Stiles thinks, that if he has to call and hear that stupid automatic voice one more time then he will lose control and launch his phone at the closest wall.He tucks himself back into bed next to Scott instead, closing his eyes and hoping that if they stay closed long enough his brain will be tricked into thinking he's asleep. Fortunately for him he doesn't have to keep pretending for too long. Scott is tossing and turning on his side of the bed a short minute or two later, slowly crawling out of sleep as he throws his forearm over his face and yawns loudly."Good morning, honey" He jokes, teasingly poking one of the many moles on the side of Stiles' face. "How long have you been awake?""Not long, just laying here" Stiles lies and doesn't turn to face his friend and figure out if Scott can tell he's telling the truth or not."Well then" The alpha stretches his arm out, audibly sighing as he does. "Let's get ourselves some breakfast!" Scott is far too energetic for a Sunday morning, Stiles thinks before he huffs out a breath and gets out of bed for the second time this morning.

 

______________  
 

 

Scott brings out eggs and usually Stiles would probably insist that if bacon isn't included then he would prefer to just have some cereal, but then again he thinks that his current apatite will only allow him to have an egg anyway. "How're you feeling?" Scott pulls out a pan from the cupboard, placing it on the already burning fire of the cooker.Stiles shrugs. "Alright, I guess" He presses the heel of his palms into his eye socket, more to avoid eye contact than anything. Scott pours in some oil into his heating pan and keeps his back to Stiles while he cracks the eggs in, probably getting the hint that Stiles somehow feels uncomfortable looking directly at him right now. Scott was always able to read Stiles better than his favorite book, and he was always even better at avoiding anything and everything that he knew would make Stiles remotely uncomfortable. Stiles is so grateful for him."Did you sleep well?" Usually when Scott small talks it's because he's leading up to a bigger question or a bigger subject, Stiles wishes that he would stop cuttingaroundthe corners and just come out with whatever it is that he wants to say."Yeah, I guess, other than you sleeping like an animal" Scott snorts, using his spatula at hand to flip the eggs over without popping them."Yeah, well I am a werewolf. I'm technically an animal" Scott replies all while he places the cooked eggs on a clean plate and digs in his fridge until he gets his hands on the bacon. There is going to be bacon after all. "Speaking of werewolves, did you try texting or calling Derek?"Stiles wishes his voice allowed him to answer right away and there wasn't a moment of him thinking of how to respond, but there was, and he's pretty sure that his cook of a friend noticed. Scott doesn't turn fully, but Stiles can see his head tilt almost unnoticeably, waiting for a response. "Uh, yeah I did. The guy's probably in a cave somewhere and has no idea how to open a voice mail." Stiles attempts to humor it out, but it sounds so forced that he squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he'd never tried."Oh, you left him a voice mail? What did you say?" It shouldn't be so difficult for Stiles to responds to his friends questions, it's not like whenever Stiles tried to contact Derek it was something he was doing in secret, he just happens to never have really told anyone about it. So why is it that he's feeling slightly speechless and almost like he has to lie over and over again?"Nothing much, just told him to get in contact" Stiles can see the back of his friends head nodding up and down, either understanding what Stiles is saying or understanding of the fact that Stiles isn't saying the whole of the truth. Scott puts the bacon along side the eggs on each of their plates, toasts some bread and brings out the orange juice. They don't talk about it anymore and Stiles is glad because since he awoke he decided to go ona 'I don't really give a shit about Derek Hale and whatever the hell it is he's up to' mission.Stiles enjoys the remainder of the day with Scott. They watch tv, eat, talk and eat some more all while clearly avoiding any subject that would include 'Derek' or 'Hale' or even 'werewolf'. It's all off limits for the rest of the day.That afternoon he gets a text message.


	10. It's love and war

The soft strumming of the acoustic guitar being played sounds through his headphones and directly into his ears, sending him into a peaceful phase he can enjoy for as long as he wants. He lays on his back, fingers laced with one and other as his hand rests atop his stomach. He's not entirely sure how many times he's already replayed the same song but at the same time he's not entirely sure he really cares. It's soft and slow. Really, really slow.

It's a stark contrast to the quick pace of his life lately. He likes the way it makes him feel carefree, he likes the way he feels as though he's asleep even though he's fully conscious. Almost completely weightless, like a feather floating aimlessly in the air. _Blackout the light. Maybe you're tired fall. Or stone cold._ Matt Corby sings to the calming tune of music, it helps Derek just stay still and think. Derek doesn't like the idea of being 'stone cold'. Maybe at one point of his life he did; when he'd lost his family, when he'd lost his sister, when he'd, in a way, lost his uncle to greed and power. When he'd lost himself to confusion and lack of pointed direction. He'd been so bitter, so alone and so accused. Whenever he'd touched anything it would crumble like sand and slip quickly out between his fingers. So yeah, at that point he'd thought it would be better to be stone cold and harsh to get through all the obstacles of life. Block out as much of the feelings and emotion part of his human side as he possibly could.Now he'd prefer to say that he's simply 'tired of the fall'. A fall usually indicates that there's going to be a rise following, and Derek gets himself out of bed every morning to the thought that there's always going to be a chance for a rise from the fall. But at the same time he often feels so tired of dragging himself into a new day. Sometimes he just wishes he could disappear for a short while, collect himself and then return to his world. _You fumble and fight. With all the time, you spend alone._ Derek's favorite companion was never loneliness, despite what everyone else seems to think. People always assume that he enjoys the company of himself and no one else, no one ever really asked him if he wanted people around.It most certainly was not the case when he was a youngster. He enjoyed sports because it meant that his teammates were always close by. He liked spending time with his friends because it meant that he could share his humor and stories with someone he could call a peer. He enjoyed dinner time after school because it meant that the family would gather around the dinner table and he'd never have to eat alone. He was never anti-social, the exact opposite of it actually. But life changes and situations change and people change. It's just the way it is.After his family died he didn't have a choice but to be alone. Peter survived, and even though he did turn cynical and deadly, Derek actually preferred his uncle sticking around to aggressivelypelt insults at him. At least that way he had someone around. Someone's voice speaking other than the thoughts in his own head, teasing him with criticisms worse than his uncle could ever come up with. Which is why he'd made such a selfish decision to turn Issac, Boyd, and Erica. He was just desperate for someone to just be around.He appreciated Stiles making time every couple of days to find him and joke around with him, nothing that was ever really offensive and most certainly nothing like the way Peter would speak to him. He enjoyed the building blocks he worked on until Scott finally trusted him. The startled looks on Stiles' face whenever Derek randomly appeared never got old, the smile that crossed Scott's face that made his eyes crinkle and his whole being light up every time Derek did something for him was something Derek could never get used to. He liked spending time with the rest of the pack, regardless of how short it always was or how little he knew them. The way the sheriff had tapped him between the shoulder blades once they had worked together was an interaction that Derek found himself constantly longing for, a tender gesture that Derek never knew how much he missed until the sheriff had reached out and touched him. Teaching all the new members of the pack things that he's gotten to learn over the years left him with a sense of pride time and time again. Interacting with Liam and Malia the same way his family had with him left him with a greater feeling than he was ever able to explain. It was all always so positive with his pack around. _Cause it's only fair. It's love and war. And darkness is all you'll ever know. If I don't love you more_ It  _is_  love and war. It's the war he has to fight in order to protect the ones he loves and cares for. It might be battle-less, but right now he's fighting a war. He's fighting against all his instincts to return to Beacon Hills in place for staying here in order to... evolve. He may be able to transform himself into a beast of an animal, but that doesn't mean he's able to perfect that art of controlling the animal. He has to work on that, and in the mean time he has to stay away from Beacon Hills. As far away as possible.Derek breathes in a fresh lungful of oxygen, shifting a little to get more comfortable in his place. There's a bushy patch of grass pillowing his head and an earthy layer of soil and more grass. The cool air feels comforting against his skin, not warm enough to form sweat but not chilly enough to raise goosebumps. _Keep in your cage. Withered by aging eyes and skin._ His eyes are still firmly shut and behind his closed lids he sees many things. He visualizes his mother's aging eyes and skin, still so beautiful and alive. She's smiling her memorable, heartwarming smile that Derek couldn't forget if he wanted to. They say that a person's voice is the first thing you forget about them as time goes by and an individual's memories become rusty and out of reach. It's surprising that years later and Derek can still hear his mother's voice ringing clearly and calmly in his ear."Mybaby" She says, her delicate hand reaching over as though she wants to touch his face. "My wonderful son" The creases thatformate around her eyes are the same as Derek remembers them, her hair draping loosely on her shoulders. She's clothed in a maroon shirt and her favorite cardigan. Derek knows that the image he's able to see are simple fragmentation created in his mind yet it feels so real that he wants to embrace her closely. He wants to reach out and hold the hand that he knows he will never touch again. He wants to fall into the arms of his mother and feel the warmth he's never going to feel again. He wants to inhale her welcoming scent, bury his face into the cardigan she used to wear too often. And just like that she's gone again, leaving Derek with a blank screen of darkness behind his lids. _You call this your home. a colorful dragging dried up drone._ This isn't Derek's home. Derek knows his home is between his mother's arms.Beside his family, where he can tease his siblings and debate with his father over their favorite sports teams.Derek's eyelids ease open, adjusting to the light they're now exposed to, a tear tickling his skin as it traces its way down the side of his face. He quickly wipes it away with his palm, body still laying down against the crunchy leaves that carpet the woods around him.Derek blinks away the moisture gathered in his eyes, using his index and his thumb to squeeze the bridge of his nose between both his tear ducts.Derek pulls out his headphones and tucks his music device into his jean pockets, sitting like that for a long time just listening to the sounds of light wind when it moves through the leaves. The birds chirp a harmony of noises among themselves up in the trees. He stays like that until he notices a woodlouse crawling it's way up his chest, probably lost and completely confused. What is this fabric? it's probably thinking. Where's the soil gone?

 

Derek carefully places a finger in front of it and allows it to climb on with its tiny feet struggling to cling on. Derek smiles as he watches the creature strives to find its safety. It crawls in a loop around his index finger before he moves it and carefully lets it go on the closest leaf, watching it wobble across the surface until it's out of sight.

It makes him think about all the different lives that take residence in these woods, each little creaturefending for its survival. Each has adapted to live and go through their short livesfending and trying again and again.Derek stands and stretches out his limbs,slapping off the soil stuck to his backside in hopes that he isn't crushing any little bugs under his feet. He kicks off his shoes and yanks his socks off, a few leaves crinkle under his skin as his bare feet make contact with the ground. He peels off his shirt and unbuckles his belt, stepping out of his jeans and placing it on a big rock next to him. Next he loops his thumbs around the elastic of his boxers and pulls them off too, dropping them on top of his other clothes.Derek has already shredded too many items of clothes, he doesn't want to add the few pairs of jeans and shirts he has left to the list of clothes he's ruined in the process of a shift.He has yet to master the art of turning into a beast of an animal, but he's better than before. He knew the consequences of being able to completely shift. He knew that at first he would have little control over how and when he would shift. He knew that he would need to stay away from his pack, house, and city until he's able to shift on his own terms. And he knew better than anything else that to do that he needed to keep them away and avoid all contact with his pack. Sometimes when it came to self-control he was useless. All it would take would be a text or a call or him slightly missing having everyone close by for him to break the promise to himself and return to Beacon Hills before he's ready. So he blocked all forms of contact with the outside world and simply kept to himself for now.His skills have improved, though. While he's been away he's managed to rent out a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. A place where he can get naked, shift and practice for hours without anyone realizing. Derek now has more control of when she shifts and can resist the urge to not shift back. The first time he got here he found himself randomly shifting in his sleep. Once he did shift it was almost impossible for him to shift back. Almost. But he always did shift back, even though the animal urge in him would tempt him not to. If he didn't he knew that he would be stuck in that state.Now Derek curls his toes, feeling the soft soil get caught and released between them. He gets into a pose like he's about to do a marathon, one leg in front of the other with his arms out in front of him. Then, and only then, he encourages his body to transform. And he does. He's quickly dropping onto all fours, his muscles are not tingling and aching like it had the first time he'd shifted. His vision is clearer, he has more awareness of his surrounding. The sounds, the smells, the feelings under his paws, the sensation of strength and energy in his body. He leaps forward and sprints acrossthe space, dodging and weaving around the trees that scatter in front of him. He runs and runs and simply doesn't run out of the will or energy to keep running. Maybe just around and around, maybe to the town over, maybe back to Beacon Hills. But then he reasons with himself and after sprinting andpouncing around for long enough he makes his way back to his abandoned clothes. He redresses himself, regardless of the layers of sweat piled upon his skin, and makes his way back down to the cottage. The urge to stay in his wolf form is still there, just not as immense as before. Or maybe it's still as intense, he's just learned to ignore it more effectively now.When Derek gets back to the cottage he goes straight for his unpacked suitcase, searching for some clean clothes to shower and change into. He's freshly out of undirty shirts, so he reaches down further in an attempt to find something to wear. Instead of a shirt his hand grips onto a cold and unused device. He freezes for a short moment because he knows what it is and he knows he shouldn't pull it out, but he does anyway. It's his phone. The same phone he'd been avoiding since the moment he got here, his only source of contact with everyone. He hesitates, and he knows it's probably among one of the worst ideas he's ever had, but he presses the power button and the screen instantly lights up.


	11. You missed me?

What is that saying? Expect the unexpected? Well, if there's anything in the world that Stiles was expecting it wasn't a text message from Derek. He has just about gotten out of his Jeep and into his house when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He thinks it might just be Scott checking up on him, which is probably why his heartbeat falls still for a moment when his eyes fall onto Derek's name glued onto the screen. Stiles' stomach does a few somersaults as his fingers fumble with his screen in a clumsy manner until he opens the message.

 _I'm fine, Stiles. I'm coming home tomorrow. I expect u and everyone else to be there to explain what u have done to mess up my loft._ He's half happy and half shocked, and a little sliver of him is wondering if this is all in his head. And did Derek Hale just try to conceal the fact that he's inviting everyone over to his loft with a joke?Stiles' lets out a shaken laughter, the beating in his chest making him feel like he's about to cry at any moment. His mixture of emotions leaves his hands in a shaky mess and among all the intense feelings erupting through him he can sense a calming rush of relief. Relief that Derek is alive and well enough to get into contact with him, relief that Derek still has the will in him to joke with Stiles. _Good to know ur not dead. Did u even get all our messages? I was starting to think that Scott might have given us the wrong number._ Stiles wonders if he's going to have to wait another few months for him to reply but Derek messages back almost immediately, which is a first. Stiles heartbeat is thumping at an unreasonable pace and he tries to breathe in and out a few times before he opens the next. _Yeah, Stiles, I gathered that from all your voice mails. I'm didn't open them, I figured whatever u have to say we can say face to face. That way I can punch you if you say something wrong._ Classic Derek, with his humorous threats and a joking style that only a handful of people would tolerate. Stiles feels the corners of his mouth tug up a little. _Now leave me alone, I'm driving._  One final message from Derek reads.Stiles wants to be angry, wants to give Derek a lecture about being an idiot but that will just have to wait until Derek gets home because right now Stiles just smiles a big and goofy smile, fisting a few victory punches into the air. He sternly warns the pack whatever plans each of them have must be cancelled immediately because they need to be at the loft tomorrow and no one dares to say no. Stiles puts too many exclamation marks and happyemojis in their group chat for anyone to have the heart to refuse.Scott and Lydia text back something along the lines of 'I'm happy for you' which what? But Stiles has no time to be asking questions  he's out of the door and starting up his Jeep again.His first destination is his father's office."Dad!" Stiles makes his presence known before he's even made it to his father. His dad turns from where he's bent over a desk, talking to one of his deputies.Stiles wears a grin so big that he looks like he's just won the lottery, arms out open."Are you okay, son?" Stiles just grabs hold of his father and embraces him, smacking his back for good measure. If he wasn't so excited he'd be worried about attracting everyone's attention. Thankfully for him and his dignity there seems to be no one but his father and a single deputy around. The sheriff is a little shocked and before he has the chance to hold his son back, Stiles is pulling away again."Dad, listen" his sons hand still grip lightly onto his shoulder. "Derek is coming back tomorrow. We have to all go to the loft" John pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly understanding as he huffs out a laughter. If there's one reason that his son's suddenly acting like he's had six cups of coffee in a row and is more hyper than ever, it's surely Derek's return."You too" Stiles points a finger at a confused Parish from where he's still behind his desk "You come too" Stiles is out of the place as quick as he's in it, leaving a baffled deputy and amused father behind him.

 

___________  
 

The sheriff arrives home in the night, and surprise, surprise Stiles is still awake. He's in the kitchen whisking something he's put into a bowl."Stiles, I'm home" His father announces as he pushes the door shut behind himself, placing his keys in his pocket."In here, dad" his voice responds from the kitchen along with the clattering of whisk against bowl and ingredients being moved around. Stiles has an apron on, his back turned to his father as he continues with what he was doing, shoulders bouncing with every movement."What are you doing?" The sheriff examines the contents sprawled across the counter. Flour, butter, milk, sugar and eggs. Stiles' laptop is wedged in between two dirty bowls and a stack of cooking chocolate, looking like it's dangerously close to tumbling off the counter. _And now whisk the ingredients all nicely together until it's smooth_ , a voice instructs from whatever youtube tutorial it is he's following."Making some brownies""Okay, well just be careful your laptop doesn't fall" He excuses himself and leaves for bed, listening from his bedroom as his only son hums to himself from downstairs.He falls asleep hoping that Stiles doesn't burn down the house.

 

__________________  
 

Stiles is considerably surprised that he's got so much energy to practice at school the next day, considering he didn't get much sleep. He tried to, but then there was the brownies and the fact that he wanted to shower extra long and he wanted to pick out his clothes. Since when he's wanted to pick out his clothes, he's not sure, but last night seemed to be a good start."Stilinksi!" Coach shouts across the field. "What did you have for breakfast that's got you so energetic? Have it more often, it's good!" Stiles chuckles and puts two fingers to his forehead, saluting his coach. Scott watches on from the side, grinning at the conversation unfolding in front of him.

 

____________________  
 

They all agreed to make their way to the loft after school. Stiles told his dad that he would go straight there and instructed him to bring the brownies when he makes his own way to the loft. Lydia and the rest of the girls say that they want to change first, Mason and Liam want to drop their stuff at home and Scott says he will pick the girls up. They all seem to have a fishy excuse as to why they're not going to the loft right after school, but Stiles doesn't bother asking. He'll just have to go by himself.

 

____________________

 

"Dad, C'mon! You never forget things!" 

 

"Sorry, son. It just slipped my mind"

 

"Okay fine" Stiles puts his phone down, thinking twice about just leaving the brownies and going straight to the loft. He reeves his car back and begins driving towards his house when he decides that he spent entirely too much time and effort making them to just leave it. Stiles is back at his house before he knows it, unlocking the door and quickly scrambling to the kitchen.

 

His mouth falls slack, keys almost falling out of his hands and tumbling to the ground when he finds Derek sitting at the dinner table, munching on the brownies he was supposed to share with the pack. Stiles' feet go still, mind not processing the image in front of him quite as quickly as he hopes. Derek turns plastic container in one hand and half-eaten brownie in the other. Derek is okay; healthy, breathing and stealing Stiles' brownies kind of okay.

 

"Hey" He says as though it's oh so very normal for him to be here like this, uncharacteristically happy, with the corners of his lips rising into a small smile and crumbs of chocolate to be stuck onto his lips. And Stiles feels choked, like a dehydrated man at the sight of water after so many nights in a dessert. Like for so long he was trapped in a glass container and suddenly he's been allowed a gasp of air. As soon as he gets a breath back into his lungs Stiles is quickly closing the space between them, launching himself towards the older guy and closing his arms around him. Stiles didn't really think of what Derek's reaction would be, all his mind was repeating was 'is this real? Is he really here?' and before he knew it the desire to be close to him was taking over.

 

The side of his face is against Derek's chest, hands linking behind the small of the werewolves back, pulling him close. Stiles' mind registers the fact that the act in itself is so tender and intimate a moment too late, but he's not entirely sure he cares - what he cares about is the fact that Derek's here in person, alive and breathing. Derek's chest rumbles with an almost chuckle under Stiles' ear, settling the container and his treat down on the table long enough to take his own arms and cloak them around Stiles' shoulder.

 

Beneath his head, Stiles feels the rise and fall of Derek's chest, the tapping of his heart beat parallel to Stiles' own thumping one. Stiles knows that any other hug should have been separated by now, he should pull away at any moment but he can't, not when Derek's head ducks down, chin landing carefully on the top of his hair. His fingers bunch the back of Derek's shirt in his hand and squeeze the material just to make sure this isn't another illusion he's creating for himself and that the werewolf is actually in his arms. Moments later and they are still in the same position, still holding each other with Derek's thumbs rubbing soothing circles into Stiles' shoulder and if the world came crashing down right now Stiles doesn't think he would die sad.

 

Stiles' fingers release Derek's shirt and he pulls back, knowing too well that if he carried on holding onto him then he might have started freaking crying. Could you imagine trying to explain that?

 

"Why are you crying, Stiles?" Derek would ask and Stiles would have nothing to say other than "I created so many scenarios in my head that could happen when you come back that I wasn't actually sure you were here" That would, more likely than anything, drive Derek away forever.

 

Suddenly Stiles realizes that leaping into Derek's arms is enough of an action to call for a bit of an explanation. Feeling the need to justify himself, Stiles begins blabbering. "This one time Scott went on holiday and when he got back I missed him so much that I almost tackled him to the ground" Stiles nods his head as though if he makes it look like he believes it himself then Derek will believe it too. Derek'seyebrows rise, a big smile taking over his features.

 

"Are you trying to tell me that you missed me?"

 

The younger boys face heats up, quickly looking away. Of course, that's the part that Derek hears. Not that it's not true, Stiles did miss Derek and if it was up to him then he would still be hugging him as they speak. 

 

"Don't laugh at me, asshole! And don't act like you didn't miss me too"

 

Stiles tries to neutralize his embarrassment, scratching his not itchy shoulder, then his neck and arms. Anything to keep his hands and attention occupied. "And who gave you the right to invade my brownies, by the way?" Stiles points to the container that occupies fewer than half of the original quantity of treats that were in there. Not that he minds at all, they were made for him anyway but it's not a Derek and Stiles conversation if it doesn't have some teasing in it.

 

"The head of the household, actually" Stiles looks puzzled. "Your dad, Stiles. He let me in and asked me to pick you up. Said your Jeep wasn't running properly."

 

There's nothing wrong with Stiles' Jeep. Okay, that's not entirely true but she's driving just fine, for now. And then it hits him that practically nothing ever slips his father's mind. Stiles' eyes narrow as he processes the information, he knew there was something odd about him forgetting the brownies. It takes a moment but Stiles quickly improvises. "She isn't perfect" Stiles makes a statement without lying.

 

  
"Well then let's get going" A final brownie is placed in his mouth and eaten before Derek leads the way out of the door.


	12. where were you?

The thing about driving is that you need to keep all your attention on the road if you don't want to be squashed like a fly. The thing about Stiles Stilinski is that every time he's remotely close to or in the same room as Derek hale then the said Derek Hale can't manage to keep his full attention on anything. A fraction of his attention always ends up on Stiles.

 

At first it was because Stiles basically just stole it away without Derek's approval or desire. He was just there, being completely fucking annoying. When Derek tried to talk to Scott, when Derek tried not to talk to Scott, when Derek was out in public or when Derek was alone. Stiles managed to annoy Derek as soon as they were even in the same building. If it wasn't him blabbering then it was him fidgeting.

 

Then came the not caring stage. Derek simply did not give a crap if Stiles was there or not. He tried to avoid the guy when he could and when the situation was unavoidable then he tried to ignore him. But then Stiles had to just get himself involved with situations. Situations which made Derek question why Stiles even stuck around or thought twice between the two options of staying to help Derek and high tailing it to safety. Stiles was a good guy, Derek decided after the nth time of being saved by the kid, it was him that was horrid for not giving the younger boy a chance.

 

Time slowly passed and it came to the point where Derek would have his attention on Stiles even if he wasn't there. If Scott came to see him and Stiles wasn't tagging along then Derek would wonder why. He would be in the loft doing everyday things, like flicking through a book or making breakfast, and the thought of 'I wonder why Stiles hasn't come to annoy me this week' would cross his mind. It never got past him wondering, he never dared to ask because he didn't want Scott to think that he cared or for Stiles to assume that Derek wanted him there. Even if he did.

 

Now as they sit in the close proximity of the car he drives he knows that he wants his attention to be on Stiles. He tells himself it's because he's been drained and starved of human interaction for so long that he's grabbing onto anything that's handed to him, but that doesn't explain why he's turning to just make sure that the younger boy is actually there every few seconds. Stiles is frantically tapping his fingers over the cap of his knee while biting the inside of his cheek and taking in a deep breath, behaving as though he wants to say something, and Derek notices it all.

 

"Is there something you want to say?" Derek almost laughs, thinking back to what Stiles said to him the last time they were in the Camaro like this "You're acting like you're a princess and you have a pea under you" Derek uses Stiles' own jab against him, glancing over to see if Stiles noticed. Derek is faced with a stern look upon Stiles' features.

 

"Where were you?" He asks in a leveled tone. A response isn't what he gets, instead Derek's amused emotions are washed over by the sudden need to hide as he turns onto the next road. "Oh, it's still a secret?" An ounce of frustration seeps through Stiles' question and honestly Derek does not blame him one bit. Derek's hands hold firmly onto the steering wheel, glancing at his review mirror and then at Stiles who is sitting forward, head turned towards the driver. It's like it has only just processed in Stiles' mind that Derek was gone for so long. "I mean, why didn't you contact us all this time?" Stiles pauses for a short moment, probably awaiting an answer "I mean, dude, you could have texted" A snort comes from Stiles as he narrows his eyes at Derek, twitching in his place as though his seat has suddenly becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "I mean, it isn't hard" You know Stiles' is frustrated when he repeats 'I mean' three times in a row, eyebrows brought together with hands rising, waving and falling as he fires out his questions.

 

Derek presses his foot onto the gas, hoping he can get them to their destination quicker so that he doesn't have to go through too much interrogation. He's already let his emotions get the better of him when he hugged Stiles once today, he doesn't need to tally up his 'lack of control when it comes to Stiles' to two so quickly.

 

"You giving me the silent treatment again?"

 

"I needed to get away" The words that fall out of Derek's mouth are hushed, leaving him sounding moderately guilty.

 

"Okay, and getting away means that you don't tell anyone? You know we were worried for you, right?" Stiles scoffs and sits back into his seat, arms folding atop his stomach. "But I guess you don't give a fuck about that, do you?"

 

"Stiles"

 

"Don't fucking 'Stiles' me!" Stiles explodes and Derek's sure anyone ten-mile radius of them can feel his anger boiling up. The stench of animosity and resentment lingers in the air like it's been drizzled through the car with a spray can, it's so strong that he can almost taste bitterness on his tongue.

 

Derek wishes that he could manage to find a way to erase the frustrated look on the younger boys face and replace it with the expression he had the moment he saw him in the kitchen. The expression of total delight and happiness, like a child on Christmas morning or a kid at a candy store.  _But then again I have a special talent when it comes to ruining good moments_ , Derek thinks. He sighs and presses his lips together in a tight line.

 

If Derek could take them back to the moment where he was simply embraced by Stiles then he would go back to it in an instant, and he opens his mouth to tell him something but he's turning into the entrance of the parking for the loft. The pack are huddled together as a group in the parking lot so his words get swallowed down and he just lets it go for now. Pressing his lips together and keeping his voice quiet, Derek knows that not saying anything now will be the biggest crime of cowardliness he will ever commit and yet he still goes along with it. The boy beside him is quiet right up until the moment Derek parks his car, slowly seething in his seat. As soon as the engine is killed Stiles is leaping out of his seat like there's a spring pushing him away, sending an erupting slam from where he forces the door car shut. The noise makes Derek wince since it's a perfect representation of how Stiles feels.

 

Stiles walks right past everyone and angrily stomps up to the loft, ignoring the curious eyes that follow after his retrieving back. "What's up with him?" Derek detects Kira mumbling to Scott and he's sure that each of them are thinking the exact same thing. The pack turn their faces back to Derek one by one, each of them with a questioning expression painting their faces. Derek wishes that he could stay in the car for a short while, just to gather his thoughts before he has to step out and explain himself. But he has too many pairs of eyes gawking at him for him to be wasting time lingering around. He quickly rubs his thumb over his nose and clicks his door open, ducking out of the drivers seat.

 

Scott is the one who breaks the silent stares, marching towards Derek and enveloping him in an embrace, clapping a hand over his back as he says a "Welcome back". Reuniting with his pack was a vision he replayed in his mind multiple times during their time apart, but now he just wants to get through the formal greetings and go upstairs to make sure Stiles is okay. 

 

After Scott, Lydia gives him a bit of bear hug, which Derek finds himself stumbling back a little because who would have expected that?

 

"You should see what Stiles has done, he has worked so hard on the loft" She states all while still holding him, dimples denting the sides of her cheek as a shiver of guilt electrocutes its way down Derek's spine. Stiles has tried so hard for him and the only thing Derek's been able to give in return is unanswered questions and piles of worries.

 

Malia and Kira distract his thoughts when they join in the already hefty hug, turning it into a group embrace. They create a bit of a ring around him, Kira and Malia under each arm while Lydia has yet to release his midsection. This level of affection would typically have Derek running for the hills, but not this time. Not when he's been yearning for it for so long.

 

Derek's arms are just awkwardly in the air for a moment before he lets them loosely fall around the girls, his heart clenching in a happy tightness. The kind of tightness you feel right before tears trickle down your eyes because the wave of joy you're flooded with is too much to endure. It reminds him so much of the times where Laura and Cora would tackle him once he would get back after a long trip that he has to widen his eyes and take a quick look at the girls to make sure they're not actually his sisters. Luckily, Derek has mastered the ability to hold back tears.

 

"C'mon, son." The sheriff crooks his head towards the direction of the way up to the loft from where he stands beside a smiling Melissa. "Let's go up"


	13. can you help me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why the font changes and I have no idea how to fix it. Sorry!

It's the first time that he's climbed these stairs in a good couple of months and he can't say he has missed the consistent creaking they make with every step. His feet feel oddly heavier than usual, his hand clenched into a tight fist around the strap of his duffle bag. Huffing in a slow, deep breath he stands motionless behind the closed door like there's an invisible force that's preventing him from entering. When he left he never bothered locking the place up, he didn't care enough to keep intruders from breaking in. He hated the place.
    
    
      
    
    It was the same place where he was tortured and used again by Jennifer. Derek blinks at the iron door and knows that behind it is the same place where his sister was beaten and Boyd's blood had been spilt. It was the same place where the Nogitsune had controlled Stiles' body and used it against his will to battle against his own friends. To battle against Derek. It was just another place where doom and gloom seemed to have followed Derek, like a never dying cloud of misfortune luring dangerously close over his head.  
    
      
    
    Patiently, the pack wait at his heels like they're some kind of bodyguards keeping him carefully covered at all times. Derek glances over his shoulder long enough to catch a glimpse of the sheriff softly smiling at him, the folds in his features becoming visible and noticeable. He has a determined look in his eyes, like he is willing to stay with Derek through every step of the way. In fact, they are all carrying similar expressions, the aroma of care and protection stirring tightly with the air. If a cloud of misfortune has made a commitment to stay close by then the only thing he can do is accept its company and continue on with his life. Derek pulls the weighty door open.  
    
      
    
    He is greeted by a place he almost doesn't recognize. Right away he senses a distinct difference between the atmosphere when he first left in comparison to the feeling of the air now. The area is brighter with the lazy evening sun streaming it's shallow rays in though the clean windows, the light wash of paint over the walls providing a more alive sense to the building. Derek's shock sends goosebumps waving through the whole of his body, never expecting such a great outcome.  
    
      
    
    The stench of mold and dust has been taken over by the scent of sweet apples and vanilla, probably from the candles that burn atop the bedside drawers. Beside the drawers he notices the sheets of his bed have been changed to a cream colour that matches the walls, bringing it all together nicely.  
    
      
    
    The decoration and coordination of the furniture fits just right with each other, grouped and organized better than he could ever devise. Derek's head turns from one side to the other, drinking in every detail and change made to the place. His lips have fallen open, a gasp escaping them when it processes in his mind that this is, in fact, the same loft he left so many months ago. Even the pipes have been painted with precision, covering every blemish that made them appear as though they were straight out of the sewers.  
    
      
    
    Derek notices the little details that mark the loft like individual signatures from each of the pack members. Stiles' trusty bat has now been leaned up against the back of the sofa, the framed pictures that leave him with a lump in his throat, the hair brush that probably belongs to one of the girls, jackets and other random bits and pieces that have gathered from all the time they have been spending here.  
    
      
    
    It's generally more welcoming and inviting, appearing more like a home than it ever had in the past.  
    
      
    
    But the furniture and the new look of the loft aren't the only aspects that make the newly decorated building more engulfing; it's the people that now take up the space.  
    
      
    
    One by one the pack move from where they were previously lingering behind him and make their way into the loft. Scott takes Kira's hand and they make themselves comfortable on the rug that takes it's residence in the middle of the couches, but not before they pick up a boardgame on their way.  
    
      
    
    John and Melissa begin unloading the bags in their hands, laying out snacks and drinks on the table that has now been put together. Crustless sandwiches, flavored chips, home made cupcakes and too many other things Derek can't keep track of.  
    
      
    
    Malia and Lydia sit on the sofas close to the true alpha and his girlfriend, giggling and egging on each of them to make the next move in their board game. "Hey! That's cheating!" Lydia picks up the dice and hands it back to Scott, nudging him in the ribs. "Roll again, cheater" They all giggle in unison, cheer and happiness coming effortlessly to them.  
    
      
    
    Derek knew that Stiles was inside tapping randomness into his phone before he even entered the loft, he heard the boy pull out his mobile and pretend to busy himself before he opened the door. Laying on the hammock that's been secured from one pillar to the other, Stiles attempts not to look up at Derek, even though he desperately want to know what the werewolves reaction is.  
    
      
    
    Derek wishes that Stiles would just come up to him and stand beside him for a moment because he is frozen between the door frames, unable to build up a way in which he can respond to what has been done for him. Is he meant to thank them? Because that will surely bring him to tears. Is he meant to just go inside and join them? Can he just go up to Stiles and hug him again?  
    
      
    
    Kira's eyes glance up long enough to meet Derek's for a moment, to which Scott quickly makes the next move and brings her attention back down towards the game. "Don't stare at him like that. We don't want to make him feel awkward, remember? He'll join us when he feels comfortable enough" Scott's attempt at whispering is completely useless because with Derek's senses Scott might as well be screaming into a megaphone.  
    
      
    
    Derek smiles, swallowing down the lump in his throat. So that's why they were huddled up like they were making war plans, they must have been discussing this way before he even got here.  
    
    _______________  
    
      
    
    "Hey, um, Stiles" Derek dares to say his name aloud, a part of him waiting to be screamed at again "Do you think you could help me get some stuff out of my car?" He crooks his head in the direction of the door, awaiting either an unexpected agreement or a bitter refusal from Stiles. The rest of the pack either didn't hear him, which is impossible, or they've grown incredibly good at keeping to their own business. They don't even look up. Stiles, on the other hand, snaps his head up so quickly that Derek half worries that the human boy might end up suffering from whiplash. Stiles just stares at the werewolf for a few seconds, and Derek fears ultimate rejection, but then he slowly nods once and scoots out of the hammock.  
    
      
    
    Derek takes the lead out of the door, with Stiles shuffling closely behind him. Burying his hands in his pocket, Stiles keeps his fingers occupied on a piece of loose thread. It's either that or biting his nails and he's not entirely sure he has any more nails to be biting. Stiles isn't stupid, he knows what's coming. Derek could probably lift his whole car by himself if he wanted to, he doesn't need a feeble human to be helping him out with carrying things.  
    
      
    
    The werewolf bypasses the iron staircase that would lead them down towards the parking lot, instead crossing over towards another set of stairs opposite them and begins climbing up. Halting in confusion, Stiles takes a double take at direction that leads them out and stares at the back of Derek's head with an expression that asks 'Where's he going?', but Derek is already half way up so Stiles mentally shrugs and begins tracing Derek's footsteps once more.  
    
      
    
    They get to the top where they're greeted by another, much larger, iron door. Derek uses both hands to pry it open so Stiles guesses it isn't the easiest door in the world to open. Behind the heavy door is the flat, tar, roof of the building that stretches out for several meters. They step out together to a gush of mild air, the setting sun providing the last of it's warm rays as light and heat. Derek walks and Stiles follows, his lips falling agape when they reach the edge of the roof and the scene comes to view.
    
    
    
      
    
    Before them stretches of buildings are scattered to construct what they know as Beacon Hills; mountains, hoards of trees and roads that ring around the city all become clearly visible. The sun that slowly settles behind the mountains cloaks everything in it's balmy colors, painting the sky different shades of orange, purple and pink. It's beautiful and Stiles can't believe that his first breath was taken in Beacon Hills and yet he has never seen the city in such a beautiful state up until this moment.  
    
      
    
    Derek is looking at him when Stiles finally turns his face, a soft expression upon his features that Stiles almost misunderstands for fondness. But then Derek is looking down and away, taking the chance away from the younger boy to realize that it is, in fact, fondness.  
    
      
    
    "You know" Derek mutters out "The main reason I bought this place was because of how taken back I was when I first came up here" Derek's eyes don't dart away from the tip of his feet where his toes are wiggling inside his shoes. Nervous habit. "It was raining when I first came up, but it was equally as mesmerizing " His head finally lifts up to stare at what's in front of him. He soaks in the city where he was born and grew up, with and without his family. "Good thing about this place is that you can scream and shout all you like and no one will hear you" Derek makes a noise that sounds a whole lot like a scoff. "So, uh, you can scream at me if you want"  
    
      
    
    And Derek actually means it. Derek Hale, who could probably rip his arm off and digest it in a second, is telling Stiles to scowl at him if he wants. Stiles' eyes widen because he's not sure if even Scott would say something like that.  
    
      
    
    Stiles is so beyond shocked. Not too long ago Derek would have probably made a Stiles shaped dent in the closest wall if the idea of the younger boy yelling at him even crossed his mind, now he's standing there like a child awaiting punishment.  
    
      
    
    Stiles turns to face him and finds that Derek has gone back to gazing at his sneakers. The truth is, Stiles felt contrite about causing an argument the moment he stepped into the loft. He regrettably paced around the space, hands on his hips, chewing his bottom lip. Stiles never wants to go through another day where he knows he will open the door to the loft and not find Derek behind it, yet the first chance he got he managed to start an argument. What an idiot.  
    
      
    
    He takes a step forward to stand directly in front of Derek, giving him a chance to raise his head. He doesn't, he can't find the courage to look Stiles in the eyes if he's going to be yelled at.  
    
      
    
    "I just" Derek clears his throat "I'm just sorry I left without telling you, Stiles" When Derek left he made a promise to himself that he would put all his efforts into attempting not to disappoint anyone anymore, but then he got back and disappointing Stiles was the first thing he did. He deserves what's coming.  
    
      
    
    "You're back now" Stiles replies in a much calmer tone compared to a short half an hour prior, blinking once before continuing. "That's what matters" Derek's head shoots up as soon as the words fall out of the younger boys lips, appearing more shocked than Stiles had earlier. Offering him his best smile, Stiles cradles his hand around Derek's elbow and pulls him towards the open door. "Let's go back inside before they eat all the snacks" He still half expects Derek to yank his arm away, but he doesn't. Instead, he allows himself to be led inside, a light sigh of relief coming from him. 


	14. karate kid

It's a good evening.   
   
Mason, Parish, and Liam eventually join them. Their time is mostly filled with board games and food, which Derek really can't say he's as good at one as he is the other. He does a tremendous job of munching on Melissa's home made cupcakes, but he's completely useless at both monopoly and uno. Most of the night was spent with Stiles closely looking at Derek and he isn't sure if he's overcompensating but he swears that the werewolf seems happier. He laughs more than once, even though he does hide it with his wrist over his lips as soon as he realizes he's doing it. He is more verbal than Stiles' ever thought he had the ability to be. It's a good change, that's for sure.   
   
___________   
   
Derek wants to do something for each of his pack members. He sighs because, let's be honest, he's never been really good at these things. Maybe he was, sometime before the fire where smiling and interacting with others came as a natural gift to him. But now he's rusty around the edges and he has grasped too much of a firm grip on his new 'I grumble at everything' persona to show people anything else.   
 

So maybe it isn't weird that he's shocking himself more than anyone when he texts Stiles, politely asking him to meet at the loft.   
 

_Stiles, come to the loft._ He taps in and sends before thinking twice about it.   
 

He even contemplates adding a 'please' to the end, but that's far too out of the fields of the character he's created for himself for Stiles not to think that something might be up.   
 

To say that Stiles literally gets to him in the blink of an eye would be an enormous lie, but Derek can swear he can hear the rusty Jeep halting to a stop less than ten minutes after he sends the text. "Derek?" Stiles calls out, legs quickly carrying him in a messy manner, breath ragged with the shoulder of his striped hoodie falling half way down one of his arm "What is it? Are you okay!?" Derek might not physically show it but he has always admired Stiles' blind concern for others, and he will probably continue to privately admire it until the day he's six feet underground. But right now he feels guilty for concerning the younger boy. Stiles is quickly in front of him, eyes clearly searching over, perhaps, for a non-existent attack wound. It is probably the most socially unacceptable moment of the day to find the situation funny, but Derek finds himself suppressing a smile, maybe even laughter.  
 

"I'm fine" Derek says simply, turning around as he pretends that he's just going to stroll further down the loft. It totally has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he is completely useless at hiding his fondness. 

   
"Hey, asshole!" Now the frustration seems to finally seep in through Stiles' voice. "You almost scared the crap out of me" Was he really that concerned? Would it truly bother him if something were to happen? "And all you say is  _I'm fine_?" Stiles mimics Derek's words in a mocking tone, rearranging his hoodie to fall back onto his shoulder. Derek isn't really sure when he and Stiles passed the whole stage of the younger boy being completely terrified of him to Stiles screaming at him, but he doesn't mind. And maybe if he dwells on it enough then he might even admit that he likes it. Does he like being yelled at? Not so much, but he does like the idea of someone not being scared of him for once. Maybe even someone being concerned for him. 

   
"I thought maybe" Derek reaches over to grab the now far-too-cold mug of coffee on the table, taking a sip to give him a few seconds for his brain to think over this one last time.  _What the hell_ , he tells himself, _just for it_.  "I was thinking that maybe you could use some self-defense lessons" A beat of silence passes by and Derek is sure it can't be more than a second but a second of wordlessness is far too long for Stiles, especially when he's wearing an expression that looks a bit like he's just been told that pigs can officially fly. "I mean" Derek thinks that maybe he should just go on ahead and drink the rest of the coffee, but that wouldn't make anything any less awkward. "If you want to" His shoulder lifts and falls as though it's no big deal.

   
"And where would I get these lessons from?" Stiles finally says, sounding half amused half still shocked. Derek should have listened to his instincts because, oh god, he's going to get teased to no end for this, isn't he? But he's started this and he's going to finish it. 

   
"From me" Derek isn't sure if he actually said the words or if he just choked out sounds, but the widening of Stiles' eyes tell him that the mumbled sounds were actually audible.  

   
"And you're sure that this isn't just an excuse for you to break a few of my bones?" Stiles teases though he's already taking his jacket off. "I mean, dude, I know I can be annoying but if this is actually a punishment in disguise then maybe you should just punch me in the face and we'll call it a day" 

   
Derek moves around the loft, getting to the sofa where he easily pushes it against the closest wall, making plenty of space for movement. "Just shut up, Stiles" 

   
"Great" Stiles claps his hands together "You can work on me not getting my ass handed to me in a fight and I'll work on your people skills" 

   
"We'll work on some basic stuff" He easily shoves the last armchair out of the way "Maybe how to get out of a hold, best techniques to escape an attack" 

   
"So this is really happening?" Stiles' hands rest on his hips, lips in a line, eyes skeptically squinted as though he's trying to find something in Derek that gives it away that he's joking. Derek's eyebrows rise up a conspicuous expression on his face. "Okay" Stiles claps his hands again, several times in a row. And if Derek isn't wrong then he's sure that Stiles actually looks excited, his hands holding each other, the skeptical expression replaced by a smile as he rocks back on the heels of his feet. He looks so delighted, sending some kind of fluttering exploding from Derek's stomach up to his chest. 

   
Derek takes a few steps forward, closing the space between them. Stiles has grown since they first met, he's practically the same height as himself now. Derek looks into his eyes and he feels both envious and glad that after everything he's been through he still hasn't lost the light he had in his eyes all those years ago. "Usually when people attack they go for the neck, like this" He says, wrapping his hands loosely around Stiles' so very human neck. Stiles skin becomes warm under Derek's delicate fingers, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows.  _This is the biggest mistake I have ever made_ , Derek thinks. Stiles doesn't move, just stands there and gazes at Derek. "And usually people's first instinct is to put their shoulders up and grab the person's forearms" Derek explains, having to force his eyes to tear away from the younger boys face. Stiles just nods, probably mentally taking notes. Derek lets his arms fall to his sides before he does something stupid. "Now you do the same to me" 

   
"Okay" Stiles clears his throat, taking his own hands and mimicking the way Derek had held his neck. Stiles' fingers rest against his pulse, so gentle and soft,  _the only reason I'm noticing that is because I need to remind myself that I need to be careful because he's human and, therefore, fragile_ , Derek uselessly tells himself. It's stupid that Derek has to even think twice about his intentions.  
 

"When someone grabs you like this you need to try to grab their wrist" Derek's hands brace around Stiles' wrists, demonstrating as he speaks "And then you need to knee them in the groin" His knee lifts in the air, stopping right before it actually touches Stiles.   
 

"Why do I need to grab their wrist?"   
 

"Because that's the closest to their head, their attention will go to your hand on their wrist and it will distract them from the fact that you're going to knee their dick" Stiles snorts out a laugh that Derek effectively ignores. Derek's still far too distracted by the closeness of Stiles' body to his own to allow his attention to drift to anything else.   
 

"Or you can poke them in the eyes" Derek's index and middle finger point to Stiles' eyes, who's still trying to hold back laughter. "That way their hands will quickly go to protect their face and if you're not looking for too much trouble and actually start running then you might get somewhere" Any attempt at ignoring Stiles becomes completely ineffective really quickly. Stiles' failure at hiding his amusement is distracting.  


The way the ends of his lips tug into a suppressed smile is so innocent that Derek almost admits to himself that Stiles is making him want to laugh. But of course, he doesn't do that, instead he lets out a deep sigh as though he's being put through the world's biggest torture. "What is it, Stiles? Is the word 'dick' so funny?" And, oh god he shouldn't have said that, because Stiles' snorts out a full belly laughter at that moment, hands falling from Derek's neck to clutch at his stomach. Derek really doesn't understand. Is Stiles' rigging fun out of him or is he really immature enough to laugh at something so silly?   
 

Stiles is doubled over now, palms holding onto his knees. Reaches forward, Derek's forearm bracing around Stiles' neck, his free hand resting on the younger boys back as he holds Stiles in a headlock. "You would be dead in seconds if you did that while someone was attacking you" Of course Stiles' laughter has stopped by now, a gasp of shock rather than pain passing his lips. Stiles doesn't move in his hold and for a moment Derek can't help but wonder if it's fear or if it's trust that keeps Stiles from moving. His heartbeat doesn't change, so something in Derek lights up in the hope that it's the second reason. Either way Derek is sure in himself that he would never hurt Stiles, hurting Stiles was never his intentions and will never make it down into his intentions. Derek lets go once he knows he's made his point, allowing Stiles enough space between the two of them for Stiles to stand upright.   
 

"Okay then, big guy" Stiles' says, seeming more serious now "C'mon then" He says as he clicks his fingers, bouncing on his heels "let me see if I can do it" Derek rolls his eyes because the energy that Stiles constantly seems to have is amazing. And the only thing that Derek knows to do in the face of things that are amazing is pretend he's disinterested in them.   
 

Derek reaches over to grip onto Stiles' neck. Stiles hauls his own hands to clench onto Derek's waiting wrists, his knee coming up to do as Derek had just taught him. Instead of waiting for the blow Derek frees one of his hands and uses it to grab hold of both of Stiles' wrist, his other free hand blocking Stiles' rising knee. Derek spins and gets behind Stiles in a blink of an eye, holding Stiles' hands securely behind his lower back. "Hey!" Stiles calls out in protest. "That's cheating!" He doesn't struggle, simply allowing Derek to man handle him. Derek's face far too close to Stiles' ear and his entire front plastered against Stiles' entire back, but the purpose of this was to train Stiles and he's not going to be immature about it. His grip remains viced onto Stiles' wrists though with the little pressure Derek asserts on him he's sure Stiles could easily get out of if he really wanted to.   
 

"What? I told you it should work on a human, not a werewolf"   
 

"Well warn me next time!" Stiles keeps his attention on what's in front of him, something that Derek is grateful for considering the fact that the slightest movement would have the two of them face to face in a far too close and awkward situation.   
 

"What you need to do in a situation like this is bend over, grab the person behind you by the ankle and pull with all your strength to sweep them off of their feet" And Derek silently hopes that Stiles doesn't actually think of bending over in front of him to test it out. "Either that or you can bring your elbow up and jab them in the face" Derek takes his free hand to guide Stiles arm up, showing him exactly how it's done. The skin on Stiles' neck has shifted a shade darker than usual, goosebumps licking their way up his arms. Derek knows that his own body isn't reacting much differently so he doesn't dare making a comment on it.  


"So" Stiles swallows loudly. "Why are you doing this?" The younger boy hasn't moved, Derek's still holding onto his elbow while his other forearm is pressed against Derek's abdomen. "I mean, becoming karate kid two point o sounds great, but why?"  
  
---


	15. ecstasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think, both good and bad thoughts are welcome! As always I am very open to your thoughts and criticisms!!! :D

Derek becomes comfortable with the pack being around quickly, both as a group and as individuals.

  
Liam wants to be able to control his senses and Derek helps him with that. The older werewolf tells him of the best ways he knows to distinguish between a range of aromas, how to categorize them and separate them from one and other. Liam makes a few visits to the loft without the others throughout the week, taking Derek's advice and guidance on how to sharpen his senses as a werewolf. Derek's more than happy to do some helping around with Scott's beta's since School keeps him pretty occupied. Mason is there, just watching, most of the time. He looks on with exposed interest in his eyes, so young and intrigued that it makes Derek feel uplifted.

  
He comes around to the loft by himself one evening while Derek reads though directions on a manual in his hand. He knocks and Derek calls for him to come in, distinguishing the scent of something sweet and pure right away.

  
"Hi" He says, peeking his head in. "It's me, Mason" He lets himself be known and Derek glances up from the paper in his hand.

  
"I know, come in. I'm not hungry yet, I won't bite" Derek jokes and Mason huffs out something between a sigh and a laugh. Derek plugs in the drill he borrowed from John into the closest socket as Mason shuffles into the loft, hands fiddling with his sleeves, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "You okay, Mason?"

  
"Yeah, I, uh, came 'cause I had a question actually?"

  
"Yeah?" Derek fiddles through the bag of screws that came with the instructions, knowing too well that staring at the young boy will just add on to his already piled sense of uncomfort. He must feel awkward coming alone, either that or his question is making him feel insecure, Derek thinks.

  
"Yeah. I wanted to know if you know how I can help Liam" Derek looks up long enough to detect the general worry and the want to help a friend in the human boy's eyes. "He is still having trouble with this whole thing and I kind of feel useless. I'm just" Mason rummages his brain for the right things to say "I'm just too human. I feel useless sometimes"

  
Now Derek turns his face towards Mason. "Let me ask you something" He says "What is Stiles? And the sheriff, what is he?" he pauses enough to let the question sink in. "What about Melissa? What is she?" Mason doesn't talk, just stands there and clings onto the werewolves words. "Do they seem useless to you?"

  
"Yeah, but they can do so much more than me"

  
"And you think they have always been like this?" Derek's eyebrows rise, using the voice he knows Laura used to put on when she was reassuring him as a young teen. "Lemme tell you something, Stiles once asked if I was shot by a silver bullet. The sheriff still wants a list of all the possible creatures that lurk in Beacon hills and is half way convinced that fairies exist. Melissa? She once asked if feeding werewolf blood to a human would make them heal faster or not" Mason's look of worry has already been dropped tremendously and it's slowly being replaced by his typical, gleeful expression. "Me? Mine is the most stupid" Derek says "When I was your age I decided to put wolves-bane in a glass of whiskey because I tried to get drunk" Mason snorts but quickly puts his hand to his mouth. "No, you can laugh. It almost killed me, but you can laugh" Derek gives him permission and the younger boys happy chuckles come out all at once. 

 

"My point is" Derek continues once Mason has recovered from his fits of laughter. "No one comes into this world knowing everything about everything. You are not useless if you don't always know what to do all the time. And Liam needs your friendship and your support more than he needs someone to hold his hand and guide him through his whole life. Some things we just have to do alone."

 

They stand like that for a moment, allowing Mason enough time to understand what he was told. "Here" Derek hands him the manual when he decides that it's been long enough. "Help me hang this T.V." And Derek could probably read the manual and hang up his whole neighborhoods telly's but he likes the way the younger boy beams every time he thinks he's gotten an instruction correct.

 

He also spends time both teaching and learning about the Kitsune with Kira. Derek likes her, thinks she's a strong willed girl. She enjoys learning and the time they spend together is very educational. He also finds that she has an excellent music taste, which can be a little bias since it's his preference of music.

 

"You like Of monsters and men?" She glances up from her pile of books one evening when Derek turns his iPod on during one of their studies together. Derek's finger had stopped turning the page of his book at that moment, thinking that maybe it wasn't her cup of tea. "I love them!" She'd declared with glee in her eyes. They had then proceeded to talk about all their favorite artists, suggesting more for each other to give a listen to.

 

Malia is different, Derek finds out. She is fast at picking stuff up, grasps concepts quicker than it should be allowed. Derek thinks that that must be why she was able to assimilate into human life so quickly and mentally praises her. She also has a sharp mind and little filter between her thoughts and her words. It must be something that she got from Stiles. Stiles who is quite the opposite of Malia when it comes to how quickly they're able to learn.

 

Derek kind of lost count of how many times he's had to say "Stiles, don't" Or "Stiles, if you do that in a fight then you will die". He likes to randomly do his own thing and throw Derek's teachings out of the window. Which is probably why he ends up hopping onto Derek's back or gripping onto his leg like a sloth far too often. Derek knows that Stiles could be serious if he wanted to be, but a part of him is actually glad that the younger boy puts his light touches, fun and games into the whole thing. Derek imagines that it would actually be really awkward otherwise.

 

It's different with Stiles, though. His chest does a weird fluttering thing every time he senses the young boy climbing up the stairs and thinks that maybe he enjoys his presence in a different way from the others.

 

Sometimes he has to look away and distract himself when he does simple things like talk about something he's passionate about or smile and laugh. Derek finds that he's constantly craving the idea of being the reason behind the younger boys happiness, the cause of his smiles and laughter. To keep him close and make sure he never has the need to put his training to use. But then he's quickly scowling at himself and mentally telling himself not to be an idiot, to step out that territory of thought and shut the gates tightly behind himself. It's dangerous and the moment he allows himself to think like that is the moment he will begin tumbling down the slippery slope of taking action towards his thoughts and being ultimately rejected. Derek would rather have to turn away his feelings than have them exposed by himself and dismissed by Stiles.

___________  
___________

  
When Stiles gets home after an evening being trained by Derek, his father has a long discussion with him.

 

The sentences that come out of his dad's lips are ones he was never expecting to hear. Stiles shrugs once, twice and then three times in a row; body suddenly feeling excessively jittery.

 

"What are you-?" he attempts to appear shocked but it's unconvincing, instead his voice comes out nervous and weak. The sound he makes is a few octave pitches higher than it typically is, the way his voice usually becomes when he's about to tell a bad, improbable lie. "I don't know what you're talking about" he declares with little persuasion.

 

And his father? Well, his father all but rolls his eyes, sitting with his arm resting across the back of the sofa. John isn't buying it, the click of his tongue says it all. "So let me get this straight, dad. You think I have feelings for Derek?" Stiles' fingers point towards himself as an emphasis, repeating nearly the exact same words that his father used moments ago. "Me, your son, has feelings for a werewolf, guy, thing?"

 

"Heeey!" the sheriff drags out his word as though he is highly offended, creases between his eyebrows becoming prominent when he frowns. "Don't talk about him like that or I will personally convince him not to date you" Stiles nearly chokes on his own saliva. "Be nice, Derek's a good kid." If the earth beneath Stiles' feet somehow cracked open and spat out a baby dinosaur who chewed his leg off he would still not be as shocked as he is now. He folds his arms and sits back into the couch like a child having a fit. Staying quiet is the only option he has because when his father is convinced of something there is almost no way in hell that anyone can tell him otherwise. Besides, Stiles isn't really sure how he can prove his dad wrong.

 

A few moments of wordlessness pass before his father stretches out his arms into the air, yawning loudly in the process. "Son, 'm going to bed" he mumbles tiredly, sighing as he lifts himself off of the sofa "You should sleep too"

 

"'kay" His son's voice responds flatly, arms yet to be unfolded, but John either doesn't realize or he's far too tired to make a mention of it. He's out of the room and shuffling up the stairs before Stiles knows it.

 

He sits in the same manner for a long time after that, just replaying John's words in his mind. Truth of the matter is if arguing back was a subject at school Stiles would probably be teaching it, so it comes as a surprise that he wasn't able to find at least one appealing reason why his father was wrong.

 

But then it hits him like a bulldozer.

 

The thing is Stiles always knew there was some kind of feeling there, slowly rising over time, yet up until this moment he'd kept the flood gates tightly shut. But now the tides are coming in like a tsunami that's taking over his whole body, sending a wave of pins and needles washing over from the toes on his feet up to the hairs on his head. He feels ecstatic like he's having some sort of religious experience or he's being uplifted to heaven itself.

 

It hits him so hard that his breath leaves his lips in the form of a quiet gasp, the arms that were previously held against his chest falling loosely onto his lap.

 

All the thoughts that he was trying so hard to shove into the back of his mind slowly become unwrapped, they're becoming exposed and for a moment he feels vulnerable because of it. The more he thinks of how much he cares about the idiot that comes by the name of Derek Hale. The more he thinks about how he would rather die ten deaths before having to spend a long duration of time without seeing Derek again. The more he thinks about how much he wants to touch him, be with him, look after him, care for him. To love him.

 

The room has stayed the same temperature, but he can swear that his skin has been set ablaze. Stiles feels warm, and not in just a physical sense. His world has been put to view and everything comes together because every inch of him is burning like there is lava boiling right behind his rib cage. And his heart could erupt and explode right now because he never wants to let go of this feeling. His face gets cradled between his own two hands, rubbing his cheeks just to make sure he hasn't actually caught flames.

 

His breath comes back to him in a rush, tingles running from his chest down to his fingertips and then back again. His first instinct is to panic at his pure sense of vulnerability, but then he's smiling, too bewildered to be worrying about what the outcome of all these emotions will be in the end. He's going to live in the moment, lavish in this ecstasy like feeling and grip tightly onto the sole thought of Derek Hale for as long as he possibly can.

 

He will deal with tomorrow when it arrives.


	16. white noise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter has taken so long, I started Uni this month and I've been super busy. Hope you enjoy! :D

Derek easily notices that Stiles acts differently.

 

Almond eyes levitate towards his direction more often than any time before, cheeks brightening up a rosy pink every time the werewolf catches him staring doesn't go unnoticed. Mindless hands end up on some part of Derek's body more often than not, whether it's his shoulder, arm or hand. The first time it happened it most definitely caught Derek off guard, to say the least. They had settled on the sofa, watching the newly installed telly, when the younger boy's fingers and palm had reached over to rest against Derek's arm. "Hey, can you make some popped corn?" He'd requested so casually, eyes not even detaching themselves from the movie on the screen, clearly not noticing the way Derek had flinched out of surprise.

 

In the kitchen, the older guy had leaned up against the counter top beside the microwave, corn popping and bursting while his own fingers had traced over the skin that Stiles' hand had been against. He'd thought of what it would be like to reach out and lace Stiles' fingers with his own, wondered if his hands would be soft or rough. Would their hands fit in together or would it look odd? Derek wasn't usually one to zone out or daydream, but he'd jumped when the machine had beeped to alert him that their snack was ready.

 

It happened allot after that, from Stiles teasingly flicking the werewolves bicep to Derek's hair being scruffed as younger boy had walked in, from an accidental touch of hands when he'd handed Stiles the remote control to Stiles grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him across the loft to show him something he'd seen on his laptop.

 

Stiles' index finger had ended up under Derek's chin at one point, scratching the scruff there "Your peach fuzz is getting out of control, big guy." He'd said "Razor not working or are you thinking of supporting the caveman look?" And it was such an innocent, such a Stiles thing to do, which is why Derek is extremely ashamed of himself for craving those little, meaningless touches more and more. Stiles clearly makes nothing of it and yet here he is, like an idiot, trying to put two and two together out of something that doesn't exist.

 

Derek's own hand had raised at one point wanting so badly to reach over and rest on Stiles' shoulder with his level of grace and casualness, but being the idiot that he is his arm had stopped moving half way through the air. His hand had just lingered there as though he'd suddenly lost the ability to control his movements, looking more awkward than ever, inches away from Stiles who was too busy flicking through his phone to register the older guy that was frozen next to him. But, oh god, did Derek feel his whole world come to the most embarrassing end when he'd looked up only to find that John was watching him from behind his newspaper. The sheriff never said anything and Derek still can't decide if it's because John thinks that it was distressing enough for him to be caught or if Stiles' father is just merciful.

 

Derek could probably go on wracking his brain for months on end and he still wouldn't come to the correct conclusion as to why the sheriff hadn't said anything.

 

The thing is, everyone can see it but them.

 

Stiles thinks there is no way in hell that Derek could possibly like him because, well, have you seen the guy? Derek looks like he was carved out of marble by Michelangelo himself, like beauty is his mother and grace is his father. He's even managed to wash off the 'I hate everything' mask he originally held, and he even makes jokes now. He's loved by everyone in the pack, including the new arrivals. Mason, Malia, and Liam think he's absolutely amazing. A great personality on top of his god-like looks will surely be the death of the younger boy. He is practically the exact opposite of Stiles.

 

Derek thinks there is no way in hell that Stiles could possibly like him because, well, have you met him? Stiles is probably funnier than your favorite comedian, is awkward in the most charming way and he might be extra lanky and a little thin, but he's equally as beautiful as his humor. People love to be around him, from friends to family to people he passes in the streets. He is practically the exact opposite of Derek.

 

That doesn't seem to be what the pack thinks, though.

 

"I'm telling you, Derek. He's head over heels for you" And Derek would probably assume that Scott and Lydia were teasing him but they each have a stern look on their face as their eyes gaze at him. He's not really sure how he feels about all that attention burning on him, he doesn't exactly know how to react.

 

Lydia is sitting comfortably on the sofa as she sips on her drink, floral dress draping off the side. Scott is up on his feet, walking in wide circles as he speaks his mind. Derek contemplates asking them to leave. It's his loft, he shouldn't feel cornered in his own home, damn it! The one thing that Derek has to be grateful for is the fact that Stiles is in the kitchen, rattling with the plates as he makes himself a sandwich.

 

Derek doesn't say anything as his alpha's hand lands suddenly on his shoulder, gripping his attention away from where he was focusing on the movements coming from the kitchen. "And you like him too" Derek's eyes lock their attention to the ground as his forearms rest on his knees because no one needs to see him blush. He doesn't deny it, there would be no use. If there was an ounce of a chance that he would be able to conceal his true feelings without his heart going off like a lie detector then he would, but Scott's become too good at noticing the changes in his Beta's heart beats "So why don't you just go for it?"

 

Derek doesn't need to think about the answer to that question, he already knows. Sure, Stiles has been kind to him and has approached him more than before but that because they are friends now. That's what friends do, right?

 

"He doesn't like me, Scott, just stop this before I kick you all out" Is his response a little aggressive? Maybe it is, but that's the only way he knows to respond to their ridiculousness.

 

"Wha-" Scott practically snorts while Lydia shakes her head like Derek is truly missing something, lips brought together in a tight line, both effectively ignoring his hollow threat.

 

"How about I prove to you that he does" Lydia chimes in, sitting her half empty glass down on the table before she leans forward and softly speaks. "Talk about someone, anyone. Talk about them like you admire them, if Stiles shows signs of jealousy then it means he likes you" She shrugs as though her plan is the obvious solution, her loosely falling hair bobbing with her movement.

 

"And what would these signs of jealousy be?" Derek bites back, quickly regretting it because he refuses to go with this idea and asking questions is usually the indication that he agrees to go ahead with a plan. Scott, on the other hand, has a smile so big that it makes Derek wonder if his cheeks hurt, nodding his head to everything Lydia says.

 

"He'll probably get a little bit angry. He'll say something like he doesn't care or ask you if you have something better to do with your life. He'll call you an idiot, or worse case scenario, he'll say you're a dickhead or an asshole" Derek can hear Stiles helping himself to what's in his kitchen, the sound of bread wrapper being opened and toaster being switched on. And there's no denying that Derek likes him. He likes the way Stiles hums to himself as he awaits for the bread to toast, he likes the way Stiles mutters a curse under his breath when the bread finally pops up. He likes how they have grown closer to each other over the passing months, how for a long time now Derek has found comfort in Stiles' general presence. He likes the younger boy's voice, what he says and how he says it, his sarcasm and their arguments that have ripened into an unexpected friendship over the years. He likes the sequencing knocks that he uses before he enters the loft, the musky _Stiles_ smell that he brings with himself when he walks in. He likes how that scent has latched itself nicely onto the hammock that he's always scooting himself into. He likes the little things he does, like the way he blows and squints right before he takes a sip of a hot drink or how his head falls back when he falls deep into laughter. He just likes Stiles and everything he does.

 

"No, I think he will do something opposite to what he usually does. He will probably go really quite." Scott and Lydia debate over the outcome of the plan that Derek hasn't even agreed to.

 

"Ten dollars says he will get angry" Lydia holds out her hands towards Scott, and Derek should stop them from shaking on it, but he simply allows it to happen.

 

"You're on!" Scott links his hand to Lydia's and shakes it, sinking into the empty space next to her.

 

Stiles is back in the room before they have the chance to say anything else, taking the seat opposite to Derek, nudged between Lydia and Scott. He has half a cheese sandwich he bites into in one hand and another half on the plate he sets next to Lydia's drink.

 

"So, what are we gonna do about chairs for the dinner table?" He asks, slim fingers bringing his food up to his mouth.

 

"Forget that" Lydia interrupts, sitting back in her seat while one leg crosses over the other. "Derek was just telling us about someone special that he knows, isn't that right Derek?"

 

Derek has been thrown into the deepest side of the quicksand by no one other than Lydia Martin herself and there is truly no way out of it without getting dirty.

 

He would have thought that Scott would be sympathetic enough not to let him sink in but as he looks across to where his alpha awaits his response he realizes that's not going to happen.

 

Stiles' eyes lock onto his as Derek finally looks up, contemplating whether he's going to play along or tell Lydia that she's wrong. But then again this is the golden opportunity. This is the moment he can either find out that Stiles does, in fact, return the feelings for him or he can hand the proof that Stiles has no interest and hand it to Scott and Lydia, shutting them up forever. Derek, not so secretly, hopes for the first outcome. He wants Stiles to go quite or implode, anything that will show a sign that Stiles doesn't want Derek with another person, the same way Derek doesn't even want to imagine Stiles with someone else.

 

"Uh, yeah" Derek blurts out, watching as Stiles' mouth stops chewing on his mouthful of food. There's an unfamiliar lump in his throat, mind unsure of what words to string together on the spot. Derek clears his vocal cords with a small cough, collecting himself together long enough to utter a simple sentence. "He's really nice" Derek nods slowly, watching as Scott beams at him and Lydia puts a thumb up from where Stiles can't see. They are praising him. This is a bad.

 

"Tell us more" Scott eggs on all while Stiles struggles to swallow down his chewed food. His fingers loosely hold onto his sandwich as he sets it down on his lap, eyes not ripping away from Derek for a single moment. His heart beat is soaring now, almost matching Derek's own. Scott's eyes flick between the two of them, evidently noticing the sudden change and the rise of choking tension in the air.

 

Derek's hand already feel like they are on fire, palms sweating, but he knows now he's in no mans land and there's only going forward from here. "Well, he's kind. And funny" Derek says, not exactly sure what it is that he should be doing. His speech isn't fluent, he's too embarrassed not to stutter. His attention falls back down to his hand as his thumbs twirl around each other, trying to stall as long as possible. "He likes mostly the same movies as me and" Derek shrugs, mostly to himself, the tip of his shoes lightly tapping on the ground. "He recently watched the walking dead, said he loves it"

 

Derek doesn't notice any vile tinge of judgment contaminating the air, Scott and Lydia aren't internally making fun of him for feeling the way he does or admitting it.

 

Derek slips into his comfort zone quickly enough when he realizes that Lydia and Scott aren't critical of him, talking of the person in front of him easily. Stiles falls awfully quite from Derek's first sentence, so quite that the werewolf has to look up a few times to check he was still there, even with his superhuman senses. He hasn't even fidgeted or sighed, not once. His food remains untouched after his last bite, cheese and bread sitting on his jeans. Derek isn't even sure if Stiles is blinking. Looks like Lydia will win the bet after all. And at that moment it hits Derek. Lydia was right.

 

She is _right_.

 

He has to restrict himself from leaping out of his seat and taking Stiles in his arms because Lydia is right! And Derek should have known that Lydia is almost never wrong, but he just thought it's too good to be true. Derek quickly glances up towards the red haired girl where she nods her head and offers him a wink, "He has amazing eyes and the craziest laugh. He likes to talk with his hands. Allot" And Derek could probably go on forever, write poems and sonnets, but he doesn't, instead he restrains himself and allows the next few moments become engulfed with wordlessness.

 

"Wow, it's quite isn't it?" Lydia says as her eyes land on Scott, a look of victory washing over her face. It appears as though Scott's about to reach into his pocket for his wallet, but then Stiles explodes.

 

"Is it really that quiet, Lydia?" His voice sounds something between completely frustrated and like he's out to break and cry, forehead scrunched in an angry manner "I mean" Stiles somewhat pelts his half eaten sandwich onto the plate in front of him, bread and cheese dropping onto the dish together "We have been listening to this asshole babble about shit we don't care about!" He nods an indication towards Derek. "We could have been talking about important things like" he flails his arm up like he's trying to think of something to say. "Like the chairs for the table" Scott and Lydia look like they're about to burst out into laughter because of how unconvincing Stiles is, something so trivial as chairs doesn't need to get so frustrated for but the younger boy realizes that too late. Stiles stands from his place, grabbing his plate and quickly disappearing into the kitchen. His feet almost stomp on the ground, tense shoulders held strongly and, oh god, does Derek like that too!

 

"Told you" Derek can hear Scott saying though it sounds more like something from the distance. His mind is ringing loudly, not registering what just happened. Is it possible that Stiles actually likes him?

 

"Yeah, but he was quite at first. that's got to mean something" Lydia says, evidently attempting to keep herself from looking like she lost the all while Derek is still stuck in his place.

 

"We should go" Scott uselessly whispers to Lydia because Derek can freaking hear him. "Give them their space" They let themselves out because the ability to make sense of the situation has still not made its way into Derek's disbelieving mind. From the kitchen, the sound of Stiles sandwich being chucked into the bin and water being gurgled down can be heard.

 

"Did they go home?" Stiles asks as he steps back into the room, grabbing his jacket from where it had been laying on the arm of the sofa. "They probably had enough of your babbling. I'm going home too" Stiles mutters out defeatedly, feet being dragged heavily across the ground. The perfect display of a combustion of emotions are clear in Stiles' appearance and attitude. His eyes suddenly don't meet Derek's anymore, he's looking at anything and everything that isn't in the direction of the werewolf.

 

There are only a handful of points in Derek's life that have made him as happy as this moment has.

 

Derek pinches his thigh from the side. Is this actually real?


	17. All the theories of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it's taking me so long to upload I've just been so busy with Uni. ahh!  
> But anyway, please make sure you leave me a comment and tell me what you think! :D

The sour essence of jealousy, sadness, and absolute _hurt_ ooze off of Stiles in waves, polluting his typically sweet aroma with something that shouldn't be there and it all amounts up to a kick like feeling in Derek's gut.

 

Derek winced because Stiles is hurt and he is the reason. Quickly getting onto his feet, Derek steps around the sofa and plants himself as a solid barricade between Stiles and the door he plans to walk out of. The younger boy almost walks right into Derek but then he halts in his tracks and looks up with bleak eyes as though he's suddenly lost interest in pretty much everything, evidently doleful and sad.

 

"Can I kiss you?" Derek asks, not wasting a moment on explanation or reasoning. Mostly because he doesn't know how to explain himself, doesn't want to wait any longer, doesn't want it to hurt Stiles anymore. The tight knit of Stiles' eyebrows loosens, eyebrows rising in a shocked manner as he swallows down the unwanted lump in his throat.

 

"What?" His eyes widen, lips parting slightly as surprise sneaks upon him and somehow he still looks sad. It makes Derek's heart clench.

 

Carefully, Derek reaches over to hold the side of Stiles' face in his hand, not resisting the temptation just touch him any longer. Derek's thumb creases over Stiles' now pink cheek bone, leaning in towards him slowly, Stiles blinks a few times and inhales a deep breath, eyes darting down to where Derek's tongue wets his bottom lip and back up again. His brain is humming, his arms aching to wrap around and embrace the boy, lips ready to feel Stiles' own on them any moment now. "Can I kiss you?" he repeats, this time more gently, face tilted and close enough to feel Stiles' ragged breath mingling with his own.

 

Memories of ever wanting to be so connected with someone in such a fervently manner are fuzzy, Derek doubts for a moment that they even exist. He can't remember the last time he actually wanted his own lips to be on someone else's so badly, doesn't recall uplifting sensations boiling in his stomach the way they do now. Derek's heartbeat soars, the fear of rejection lingering around his emotions even now.

 

"Yeah" Stiles says so quietly that Derek's sure he wouldn't be able to detect if he didn't have the advancements of his werewolf senses.

 

And the world comes together just as their lips do. Derek presses a lingering peck onto his mouth, pulling away long enough to check if the upset settlement on in the younger boys eyes have vanished or not. They have, but Derek doesn't have much time before Stiles is launching himself forward, lips locking with his once more as his arms fling around the older man's broad shoulders.

 

The atmosphere fizzles and pops in a beautiful explosion of fireworks and rainbows and every other cheesy simile that Derek can think of, soft lips occupied by another set of gentle ones. He isn't even ashamed of admitting to himself that all the romantic cliches of the world lace in with his thought, he's too busy allowing himself to be bestowed in the feeling of Stiles' lips, the taste on his mouth and the thudding of his own heartbeat. He's flailing in the depth of disbelief and attempting to come to terms that yes, it is in fact Stiles whose parting his lips and giving way for his curious tongue to enter, kissing back with such enthusiasm that it raising goosebumps across the werewolves skin.

 

Derek almost feels bad about the idea that he's never felt this level of delight about anyone he's been with in the past, but then again none of the people he's ever become intimate with have been on the same pedestal as Stiles. Stiles who never flinches away from offering his life on a silver platter to save Derek. Stiles whose level of selflessness continues to shock and astonish Derek day by day. Stiles who likes Derek with his endless list of flaws, damages and tarnished past.

 

And Derek has always come to know first kisses as being awkward, not knowing what to do or what to say right after the pulling away part happens, but trust Stiles to make him feel the exact opposite. Their lips part and their foreheads fall against each other, Stiles' arms around the older man's neck while Derek has his own hands sitting on the boys hips. It's calm, like the quiet chirping of birds that come out after a storm, a peaceful, serene stillness after a blizzard.

 

"Wanna get something to eat?" Stiles asks after another quick, mellow pressing of lips. Derek's stomach growls, ironically, as if on queue and they both half laugh before Derek reaches up and takes the younger boys hand in his own.

 

"You can pay" Stiles says, allowing himself to be led out of the loft. "You know, since you gave me half a heart attack earlier and didn't let me eat my sandwich" Derek scoffs out an audible sound that seems a whole lot like amusement and it makes Stiles joyful to know that the werewolf is visibly as happy as he is. It's a good change.

 

_________

 

They say that humans will never gain the capability of telling exactly what someone else is thinking. Some even go as far as believing that our individual mind is the only one, that every other being is just made up by us in order to make it through a long, meaningless life. Or some shit like that which Derek didn't listen to in philosophy class, mostly because firstly he thought the whole theory was all a bunch of crap and secondly because he really had some kind of pent up hatred for their snooty teacher. One thing he knows, though, is that if this world is nothing but a fragmentation of his own imagination then he would like to give himself a little bit of credit.

 

Credit because his mind is kind enough to create Stiles into his world. Or maybe God is to be credited. Credited for the way the younger boy bites into his burger, humming praise to the food while he stuffs the empty side of his mouth with as many curly fries as he can fit in. Derek himself takes in some juice from his straw, grateful that Stiles is, in fact, still _Stiles_ after what happened earlier. Pleased that there is no kind of uncomfortable situation between the two of them. That Stiles stretches his hand over and playfully flicks Derek's forearm. "Don't look at me like that while I devour this burger, it's not sexy"

 

Derek isn't sure if Stiles is referencing the lack of 'sexy' in the way that he eats or in the way that the werewolf watches him but either way the older man almost chokes on his drink, putting his wrist against his lips to cover up both his massive grin and the fact that he's now coughing.

  
Is it the work of God or the work of his own mind? It doesn't really matter because heaven has come to him in the form of a human being and is dining in the least seductive manner and yet Derek wouldn't trade the weird beauty that is Stiles for anything . He has him and that's enough for now.


	18. Mad Max

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think, I would be so grateful! :D

Derek's heartbeat matches the pace of a woodpecker's beak against the bark of a tree, rapidly thudding against his ribcage like it's about to leap out at any given moment. Typically he would take pride in being smooth in this kind of situation, as a teen he was even quite cheeky, but not now. He has a great amount of respect for John not just because he's the sheriff of the town, and he sure as hell should be scared of him, but because he is genuinely a good person and he's one of the few people that Derek actually looks up to. Derek doesn't want to tarnish any good impressions John might have of him but then again he is Stiles' father, he deserves to know if his son is dating someone. 

 

Shifting his weight from one leg onto the other, he stands like that for over several moments, hand slowly rising up to knock on the wood only to fall back to his sides when doubt invades and takes over his thoughts. He's contemplating whether or not he's going to ever gather up the courage at all when the front door to the Stilinski household clicks open, revealing an amused John standing behind it. 

 

"Derek" The sheriff greets, nodding towards the man at his front door. "Saw you standing there from the window, thought I'd wait 'till you'd knock, but I wasn't sure you were ever going to" He says, the corners of his lips raising up into a delicate smile that Derek isn't really sure will stay there when he realizes what he's here for. He can't even bring to himself to tell him.

 

The sheriff takes into consideration Derek's flustered and scared form and continues on speaking without waiting for him to do so. "You here for Stiles? He mentioned something about a date yesterday" Much to Derek's complete surprise the smile on his face doesn't drop and he isn't reaching for the closest gun. Irritation and disapproval don't strike his features for even a moment. "You know, son" His hand reaches out and rests atop a shocked Derek's shoulder, creases formating atop his forehead with his eyebrows brought together "I'm not the kind of father to threaten my son's boyfriend, I always found it kind of creepy when people did that. Just look after him, will you?" The sheriff even rubs his thumb in a reassuring manner over Derek's shoulder as though  _he's_ the one doing the comforting. Derek has fallen out of contact with the idea of people treating him decently for a long time now but he feels his chest ease up and his heartbeat slowly returns to it's normal pace with such simple human contact. There's a smile on his face matching the sheriff's now, gleeful and accepted. Derek thinks that maybe he can get used to feeling happy again.

 

_______

 

They go to watch a movie. Stiles literally sits on the edge of his seat for most of it, like he's about to leap up and jump into the screen himself, hogging their large popcorn from where he uses it as a comfort mechanism during the intense moments. Derek can't help but notice how breathtaking he is even though his jaw is left slack for most parts of the two hours, dim lighting of the theater not doing his stunning features justice at all. For most of the action packed scenes Stiles grabs hold of and wrenches the end of Derek's sleeve, leaving it folded and creased, but the older guy doesn't think he minds much. After all, a mere year ago he wouldn't even think twice about touching him and yet here he is now pulling on the sleeve of his sweater like he intends on ripping it.

 

Afterward, Derek confirms that Stiles actually enjoyed the movie when he talks about it the whole car ride to the closest diner, flailing his arms as he sings the writers praises. "It was so good!" He claims for the nth time like Derek himself didn't just see it. "And in the end when Max just kind of nods at Furiosa?" He turns towards the joyful driver. "Did you see it, Derek? it was awesome. But that Immortan Joe guy was an asshole!" Derek agrees and he would probably tell Stiles if he gave him the chance to speak. Mad Max was really good, but nothing could possibly come close to how good it is to watch the younger boy freak out about the quality of the film. 

 

Nothing could even begin to compete with the feeling of having Stiles at his side, spending a day with him like normal people do. Nothing could come close to the delight the way the boy talks, acts and everything he says brings him on a daily basis. He almost second guesses that all this is true wants to reach over and make sure that he isn't hallucinating. Derek's hand tighten around the wheel, doubting himself for a moment but then he takes his own hand and stretches it towards the drivers seat, lacing his fingers carefully in with Stiles'. He's relieved when Stiles holds his hand back without flinching or acting like somethings out of place, "Tom Hardy's acting, though, Derek" he simply carries on with his heartfelt speech, making the werewolf smile even wider as he shakes his head in a fond manner.

 

________

 

"You trying to tell me he didn't threaten you?" Stiles scoops up way too much ketchup with his chip before he shoves it into his mouth, his tone of voice coming out as though he's offended rather than shocked. 

 

"No" Derek picks on his own cooked potatoes, munching on the crunchiest ones first.

 

"Well he threatened me, said that if I did anything to upset you he would make sure that Scott and I didn't have another video game night again for the next century" He devours some more of his chips and Derek can't help but lean forward to get a better view of the way his lips somewhat pout when he chews. "It's ridiculous, I'm eighteen my father shouldn't have the authority to threaten me with video games and best friends"

 

"Your father is the sheriff, he can do whatever the hell he wants"

 

"Can you two please stop defending each other here? I feel like I'm being pushed up against the wall"

 

"Do you want me to push you up against the wall?" Stiles stops chewing, head snapping up, the color in his cheeks suddenly representing the sauce on his food. Derek didn't mean it in _that_  way, but he can't help smirking at the boy's comical reaction. 

 

But Derek does just that as soon as they're back at the loft, sandwiching the younger boy between himself and the closest wall as their lips frantically connect with each other. It's frenzied and quick, the taste of chips and cola yet to vacate their tongues, but Stiles is holding onto his shoulders with his arms wrapped around them, his whole body pressing forward towards Derek's own. And Derek isn't any less enthusiastic about anything, taking his hands to effortlessly lift the younger boy and rope his legs around his own midsection. Stiles is very much compliant, hauling himself up and allowing the werewolf to carry him to the sofa, too busy being mesmerized with the feeling of Derek's lips to worry about anything else.

 

Derek sits on the sofa with Stiles still gripping onto him, now promptly straddling his lap as he licks into his mouth. With palms and fingers stroking over the younger boy's back, Derek pulls him even closer all while skillfully maneuvering himself to lay his back flat on the sofa. Stiles doesn't stop kissing as he follows Derek's shift in stance that ends with him having his knees on each side of Derek's hips while his palms hold him up above the older guy. Derek's large hands cup Stiles' face, pulling away long enough to get a good look at him. His lips are a carmine pink, beautifully matching the tint in his cheeks. His hair is unkempt, standing up in ten different directions from where he looks down at the older guy. Long, dark lashes frame his eyelids, iris holding a million shades of melted caramel to create the amber of his eyes. Derek has seen many faces, of people he knows of strangers he doesn't, and yet he's not sure he's ever seen someone look so strikingly beautiful ever before. 

 

The werewolf's head lifts off of the sofa as he brings Stiles' face down, bypassing his lips and moving straight to where he places a lingering kiss right beneath his earlobe, darting his tongue out to lick the place where his lips just were. Stiles makes a small noise, arms reaching around to pillow the older guy's head right away, bringing Derek's lips closer to his neck. Derek misses the sound that Stiles makes as soon as it's gone, raking his teeth over the sensitive skin of Stiles' neck in blossoming hope that he will make that noise again. Stiles can't help it, the rough grazing of Derek's teeth and stubble, the warmth of his breath ghosting over his skin and the musky aroma of his scent drives him absolutely crazy right away. Stiles half grinds his crotch down onto Derek's hips, letting out a deep groan as a praise to the sensation leaking into his body. It's so good like he's in some hypnotized stance where he simply cannot control the pleasure seeping through his entire being.

 

Derek trails a series of wet kisses down from just bellow his ear down to his collar bone where he bites down enough to earn a reaction from the younger boy but not leave a mark or cause pain. This time Stiles full on moans with ragged breath, thighs becoming weak as his ruts his hips forward and then back again. Derek detects that Stiles feels embarrassed when he stops moving his hips so he takes his hands from where he was previously raking his blunt nails over the boys back and grips either side of his hips in his hands, wordlessly moving and encouraging him to carry on. 

 

Derek lifts his own hips up when the younger boy still doesn't move and Stiles doesn't hesitate to obey after that, pressing his now hard crotch down and grinding his still clothed self against the older guy.

 

"Der-" The name gets cut in half before it makes it all the way up Stiles' throat, breath taken away by the shock of pleasure that runs through him. Derek has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from moaning to the way his name almost makes it all the way past Stiles' lips in that breathy, pleading manner. The older guy has always had amazing control of himself, but he can't help it, not when the boy's body is blanketing his own with his arms viced around him keeping him so incredibly close. Not when his breath runs over Stiles' skin, the pulse in his neck right under his tongue. Not when Stiles is practically humping him, still fully clothed. "If-" Not when Stiles groans like that. "If we don't stop, I will - I will come" Derek would like to say that it's simply because Stiles doesn't have much experience that he's unraveling so quickly, but he honestly doesn't think he's far off himself. 

 

And Derek knows how dirty this may look, for them yet to undress and to be coming in their pants but he's not really sure he cares much. The last thing on his mind is getting a wet patch on his clothes and the first is what Stiles would look like if he was to be undone atop him. 

 

"Then come" Derek whispers in his ear, pulling the younger boy's shirt to the side from the neck and getting his lips onto where he hopes will be covered by his shirt later. He bites, licks and then sucks a hickey right onto his skin. 


End file.
